Örnulf.
Nay, Egil—we have lost our warriors now, both thou and I. [To Hiördis.] Thy father sang:
Jökul’s kin for Jökul’s slayer
many a woe shall still be weaving.
Well hast thou wrought that his words should come true. [Pauses a moment, then turns to one of the men.] Where got he his death-wound?
The Man.
Right across his brow.
Örnulf.
[Pleased.] Ha; that is an honourable wound; he did not turn his back. But fell he sideways, or in toward Gunnar’s feet?
The Man.