He is coming for me, that foul wolf.
I see his cold eyes honing in as he searches the battlefield.
I hear his subtle growl as he spies by visage among the Heroes that battle at my ankles.
‘Odin,’ they praise in their many tongues.
I will never see them after the wolf takes me. Our time in Valhalla will be fond memories upon battle’s end. I know not where I will be, but I hope to see them in my endless sleep.
My brothers battle the hardest fights: Tyr wrestles the red hound Garm, no doubt sent by Hel to battle in her place and Heimdall duels Loki, a fight he has longed for many years. They will die, but not without victory.
My daughters glide about the field on pale horses with shield and spear. I see many thrown and tossed about like playthings under their blades. How perfect they have become.
My sons are the best my wives and I could have asked for: Baldr fights with the grace of a minstrel playing the harp; Hermodr rides Sleipnir as he stacks the enemy upon his lance; Vidar is wild with violent delight; Vali is shy, but his arrows always struck home; and Thor is the best of them.
What more can a father ask of his children?
This was a good day. Though all worlds burn, this is quite an end to our lives. For a moment I pause, gazing into the future one last time. Many die around me, but in my trance I cannot help but smile on the days to come.
These grounds of Vigrid will be soaked in the blood and waste of millions; fine fertilizer for new crops. Sif, in her grief when my boy is felled, will sow many seeds and bring life to this blighted patch of earth.
I see many pyres upon the hills. My friends and brothers will go in peace while the survivors carve out anew. They will follow the plans and restart what is lost.
Hope is yet in reach.
I feel the wolf’s jaws clamp down upon my shoulder, it’s fangs digging through to my heart. The pain is great, but I have no air to voice my scream. He lifts me from the corpse-covered ground and shakes me like a piece of meat. Gungnir, my spear, falls from my hand as I lose feeling in all my limbs.
My sight remains as I fall back to the ground. I hear Vidar struggle before I see him fighting the wolf with only his hands. Gripping its jaws he pulls them apart in a great tear of fur and flesh.
I see tears in his eyes when he comes to me; they drip into the blood upon his face, a proper sob for any warrior. My hearing began to fade as he cries with such passionate sorrow. He holds the back of my head as my vision wanes.
I could not speak, but in the end, there are no more words a proud father can give his son.