| Transcript |
- Translated transcription: We see Vébjörg standing at Óðinn’s side.
It is as if no one notices them, as if the tall man in the long cloak is invisible to everyone surrounding them.
Óðinn has lifted up his arm, he points towards an opening in the crowd.
He need not say anything. Vébjörg knows, it is Starkaðr, he points out to her the North’s most famous warrior, the slayer of young Haraldr.
She sees it in the movement in the crowd over there; she hears it in the stir of fright that fills the air; she senses it from the powerful hammering of her own heart, and grips the hilt of her sword more tightly, while courage swells in her breast and determination flames in her glance under the winged helmet.
We see Vébjörg standing at Óðinn’s side.
It is as if no one notices them, as if the tall man in the long cloak is invisible to everyone surrounding them.
Óðinn has lifted up his arm, he points towards an opening in the crowd.
He need not say anything. Vébjörg knows, it is Starkaðr, he points out to her the North’s most famous warrior, the slayer of young Haraldr.
She sees it in the movement in the crowd over there; she hears it in the stir of fright that fills the air; she senses it from the powerful hammering of her own heart, and grips the hilt of her sword more tightly, while courage swells in her breast and determination flames in her glance under the winged helmet.
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