Terror Comes Again BUT the time when men might sleep safely in the King’s hall was not yet come. Grendel had fled away over the moors with the life streaming from his mortal wound, seeking the dark of his lair like a wild animal that has its death-hurt. But he had not died alone as a wild animal dies. In the dreadful sea-cavern where they dwelt his mother had been waiting his return. She was of the same kind as Grendel, monstrous, evil, a Death-Shadow-in-the-Dark; but she had possessed the power to love, and she had loved her son, and was therefore more terrible than he had ever been. Now, mad with grief as a bitch-wolf whose cubs are taken from her, panting for revenge, she followed the day-old blood-trail to the threshold of Heorot and hurled back the door. Within was a sudden dreadful uproar. Men sprang from the sleeping-benches, snatching up their weapons, but as no blade could bite on her son’s charmed hide, so none could bite on hers. She surged forward, heedless of all that they could do against her, and with a triumphant yell she grasped Aschere, whom the King loved best of all his thanes, and next instant was gone with him into the night.
