The field was run through the river of red. As thick as a velvet mantle, it ran freely down the hill, nothing was its obstacle, not the resting weapons of men, nor the bodies of such men, the mantle covered all and soaked the brown land beneath it. Here and there the river parted and allowed something to stand in its way, sometimes a moving limb, from a not quite so deceased man, other times the moving of people either rescuing or robbing. All throughout the field was a daunting silence, heavy as the air, thick as the blood and cold as the fog that now steadily lay beside the dead.
At a distance, a wailing was faintly heard.
The fog could hardly let anyone see or hear the way, but one could almost make out from where this wailing was coming from. Walking the field, meant kicking the iron armors and sinking feet into mud, but above all this noise, still persisted the wailing. Alas… one could see its source.
At the centre of the battlefield, stood a banner, as high as the birds could fly, but what kept it standing was not the ground beneath it, but the body into which it was impaled. This man laid on the ground, his armor pierced by the wooden stake, his skin bloodless was gray-white and his eyes, still open, stared the endless sky, like lifeless orbs. Over his body a woman wailed, cursed and cried. Her blue gown, stained with his blood and the earth beneath her, served as a shroud to his axe, which lay blood-stained at his side. This woman caressed his face as if he still lived and stroked his hair, as to make him fit to see his maker. Her words were not understood, amidst her rage, but her pain was both visible and palpable.
Soon the crying was not enough and the woman closed this man’s eyes and with a superhuman strength removed the stake from his armor and with the banner covered his body. His body was now prepared to take the journey to Valhalla. She then raised her arms to the heavens and commanded the gods to take this man into their bosom. Out of the mist came several young blonde women, all wearing golden armors, as shinny as the sun. These women came close to dead body and scooped his soul as if it were an infant begging for his mother’s bosom. As the golden women were hence occupied, the blue-wearing woman took the man’s axe, from the ground and held it to her chest as hard as she could, almost instantly a new stain would appear running down her dress and her face would become paler and paler. She looked at the golden women, and stretched her arms for them, but she was of no interest to them. The golden women began to fly away with the man’s soul, leaving the grieving, bleeding woman behind. In an instant of courage, she jumped and grabbed a foot of one of the goddesses, but was soon shaken off and plunged to her death, as she hit the red-soaked brown land.
Axe at her side, blood on her dress, and no life on her face, she lay cold, waiting…