The battle is over. You are lying wounded on the ground among cries, agony and broken weapons of fellows and foes. You are in pain too and know you are about to die. You do not know who won or lost the battle, and it does not matter anymore, for you know what shall happen. Eventually you hear them; drumming, singing, yelling. You look to the sky, and in blast of light, you see them come down towards you. A sight for the dying only. Hundreds of them. Valkyries. Ten thousand mortal men from Midgard would not stand a day against a single one of them. You heart beats faster as they approach, for you know they are here to judge you. You shall either be picked among the bravest of warriors, the Einherjars, to sit at Odin’s table in Valhalla, or you shall live like a common man in Folkvang, the holy land of Freya. However, if they condemn you as a coward, you shall be sent to Hel in the underworld. In a flashback, you recall all the incidences in your life where you have treated a woman miserably, considered her weak and taken advantage of your physical superiority. You taste your blood as you swallow a blob of it. Yes, great warrior: You better gather what is left of your courage, for if you want to go to Valhalla, this is not the right time to shit your pants.
With love and respect for women all over the world
Gothi and Peter Siegmund Wildling
Tribe of Hofund
