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In stories that notice have gained,
The hero’s strength has waxed and waned
With the course of the sun,
But neither was one
Of the two who still fought so acclaimed.

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And under the cover of night,
Some of the Scald did take flight.
Þurn, though, still fought,
And Erdewyn sought
To end him and her own town’s plight.

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Soon enough, night ‘gan to fall,
And of the dead, noone knew all
The names; of the harmed
None could tell; of the charmed,
Hurt not, the number was small.

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On did the two of them strive,
Both hoping to end up alive,
And the folk of the town
Thought to bring the Scald down,
Themselves from that evil to shrive.

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Indeed, Þurn soon regained ground,
Thought to turn the fight around,
Though still all about
Matters were in doubt;
Chaos did them both surround.

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It’s certain she found strength again,
In the pause found a new wind
And pressed her attack,
And so forced Þurn back,
Though that fight was not soon to end.

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Whether she did well to halt,
Or whether she made then a fault,
Is not ours to say
Who saw not that day--
It’s not ours to blame or exalt.

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Erdewyn did what she could
As to allow her the delay would
To catch a clear breath
And so stave off death
A bit longer, to her own good.

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As it happened, her knowing was wrong.
His innards stayed hid from the throng,
Though still the blade bit
Him where it did hit
Him, but he soon came along.

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As he fell, his blade did hit the ground,
And from it did swiftly rebound;
His opponent withdrew,
For she certainly knew
The blade his depths would fully sound.