Grendel’s Monologue

This goddamned geetish git.

You sent for this wretched little storyteller?

You think he’ll bring us to our close?

No, no, no, no — that’s not the nature of things.

That’s not how any of this works.

You fear my strength.

You fear it so much you summon this boorish interloper,

this someone’s son with all his hangers-on.

Hear this:

his shining plate will be an ironic ornament

on the ruined pile I’ll leave of him.

And as for you —

I’ve seen you.

I’ve seen you at the crest of the hill, against the sky.

I’ve felt the quaking of your coming

in the shadowed waters at the turning of the tide —

and yet here I am.

You lack the teeth, boy.

Whatever else I am, I’m a nasty old fuckin’ killer —

and you don’t have the sand.