And for a while out of that mist the arrows hissed, shot by unseen hands, and darts, hurled by whom one might not know, smote friend and foe alike, while if one slew his man, out of the fog came another to take his place, seeming endless foes.

And as in a dream the noise of battle sounded, and the fight never slackened.
All I knew was that Cyneward was next me, and that my axe must keep my own life and take that of others; and I fought for Osritha and home and happiness--surely the best things for which a man can fight next to his faith.

And now men began to shout their war cries that friend might rally to friend rather than smite him coming as a ghost through the mist.

Then a man next me cried between his teeth: "It is Ragnaroek come--and these are Odin's foes against whom we fight." And so smote the more fiercely till he fell beside me, crying: "Ahoy! A Raven!--a Raven!" Then was I down on the slippery deck, felled by a blow from a great stone hammer that some wild pirate flung over the heads of his comrades before me, and Cyneward dragged me up quickly, so that I think he saved my life that time.

And I fought on, dazed, and as in a dream I fancied that I was on the deck of my father's ship fighting the fight that I looked for in the fog that brought my friend Halfden.
When my brain cleared, I knew not which way we faced.