"We are just lying down," muttered Thor. Puzzled and upset, he strode off and lay down under another oak.
But he could not sleep. The stertorous snores of the giant seemed to mock him.
Finally he sprang up again and walked cautiously back. The moonlight shone full on the giant's bulky form. Heaving his hammer aloft, he launched it with such violence that the head buried itself in Skrymir's skull.
"What's happening?" called out the giant, rolling over. "An acorn dropped right on my head. How do you fare, Thor?"
"All right," called back the other, stealing away behind the tree trunks. "I woke when you called out. There is plenty of time to sleep yet."
Again all was quiet, except in Thor's breast, where rage and humiliation contended in a turmoil. He forced himself to lie still, calming his burning wrath with the assurance that when the moment came for a third blow, he would take ample revenge for this disgrace. The creature did not exist who could treat Asa-Thor in this manner.
A long time he waited both to recover his poise
and to be sure the other was really asleep again. At length, a little before daybreak, he rose softly, and again approached the slumbering giant.
His hands ran over the magic belt as if to draw from it the last bit of aid. Gripping Miolnir with both hands, he summoned up every power of his heaving muscles. The remembrance of his failures burned in his veins and seemed to double his strength and determination.
He whirled the irresistible Miolnir about his head, and brought it down with his utmost force upon the sleeper. To his grim satisfaction, he saw it smash into the giant's cheek up to the very handle.