Near and far was seen the dragon's violence, how that destroyer hated and humbled the Geat people. The people of the land were enveloped in fire. At dawn he darted back into his cave. He trusted in his war and in his cavern.
But trust was to play him false. Beowulf learned the terror quickly, in truth: the surging fires burned his house, the mead hall of the Geats. That was sorrow to the good man, the greatest of sorrows: the wise king feared he'd enraged God, broken a commandment. His heart surged with gloomy thoughts, which was not his usual way. The flame-dragon had burned the fortress of the people. The war-king studied revenge.