Beowulf was a happy guy, in general. His life had been smooth sailing so far. He lived alone, on a hill, on the coast of a dark, stormy sea. The bay was lined with sharp rocks that jutted up from the ground, and this kept people from coming around. His house was rather nice, as far as he was concerned. It was an old lighthouse, sailors had heeded its light for generations. The lighthouse was covered in old cobwebs from spiders that had long since moved away, and the wood sea-worn from the waves and brine crashing against it every year.

One day Beowulf was hanging out by himself when he heard an eerie knock on his door. When he opened the creaky door, he was instantly terrified. An old, crotchety man with red eyes was staring at him. The terrifying figure was supporting all of his weight with a rotting oak cane. He wore an outfit fit for a peasant, complete with a ragged black drape covering the top of his head. “They’re coming,” he screeched, “It’s all ogre now.” Beowulf had only noticed the swirling black sky when the old lighthouse door slammed in his face.

Immediately Beowulf was overwhelmed with fear. He held his breath as he peeked out the tiny window next to the large door, and what he saw left him gasping for air. The largest pack of rabid wolves Beowulf had ever seen was storming the old lighthouse from the east. Five bears were prowling around towards the west. But worst of all, 10,000 rats were storming the lighthouse from the mainland. He quickly realized that his death was imminent, but thankfully one more thought came to his head as well: my horses.

Beowulf ran to the stable where he kept his two beautiful mares, a speckled white one named Oreo and another a chestnut color one named Fitz. He unbridled them as quickly as he could and led them out of the stables. “It’s time for you to go now,” he said. There were tears coming to his eyes. “You have to go or the wolves will get you. I can’t put you in danger.” the horses looked at him forlornly, pawing the ground as they reluctantly were led away. But finally at Beowulf’s pleas, they trotted into the forest, hopefully to a better fate.

Beowulf then ran in the opposite way, towards the mountain. He planned to find safety at the mountain village at the peak. Knowing it was a daring plan with little hope to succeed, he said a silent prayer for his beloved horses and left behind his house with only a knife and a torch to guide him, never looking back. 

As he was running, he heard the awful scurrying of rats behind him, nipping at his heels. Deeply afraid of the terrible horde of beasts behind him, it spurred him into an even faster pace. In the distance, he saw the rushing mountain stream, with its single rickety wooden bridge, and he got an idea. As he ran onto the bridge, he set fire to the railing. The flames caught quickly and began spreading after him. By the time he passed to the other side, the bridge was engulfed in flame. All the bears rushed onto the bridge, only to find it cracking under immense heat. The scurrying rats and the bears fell into the raging river, and the frenzy of rats continued to fall into the turbulent water. Beowulf looked on with grim satisfaction as the wolves, coming behind, could do nothing but howl in consternation from the other side. However, the wolves did not wallow in pity for too long, and Beowulf began to sprint towards the nearest mountain because he knew that the wolves were preparing to find another way around.

Beowulf climbed the mountain through the pouring rain, resolutely plodding on. I can beat the sunset, he thought. He heard the pack of wolves growling in the valley, picking up their fearsome pace, searching every corner of the forest for him. He pushed himself harder. Soon, tears and sweat were pouring off of him as he struggled to make the final ascent. Just as he thought his legs would fail and his lungs would collapse, the steep grade leveled out and he saw the village at the peak. He had made it.

Beowulf was only mildly acquainted with the folks in the mountain village, but on this day they were the strongest of comrades. The villagers had heard the barking wolves far in the distance, and they had prepared archers all around the walls of the village supported with ground infantry inside of the village. However, just as the front gate of the village was beginning to open, the wolves ascended the mountain and mercilessly began their attack.

Beowulf was sprinting towards the wall at top speed, but he knew he couldn’t outrun the wolves. He felt that this was the end. A wolf was about to close his fangs around Beowulf’s foot when the sound of galloping hooves knocked the wolves to the ground. Oreo and Ftiz, they came back! This gave Beowulf just enough time to reach the village, where enough soldiers surrounded him to keep him safe. When Beowulf finally conjured the strength to look for his horses behind him, his heart sank. Oreo and Fitz were dead on the ground.

Over the next hour or so the soldiers and the archers worked together to take out the hoard of wolves, and that night a great feast was prepared to celebrate the victory. Beowulf was an honored guest on this night; his meal was fit for a king. The townspeople even offered him a small cottage in the middle of the town, but Beowulf refused. Although he was glad to be alive, Beowulf also wept heavily on that same night, for loved his two horses as a father loves his children. He believed that no human relationship could measure up to the caring relationships he had with Oreo and Fitz.

The next morning, just as Beowulf was departing from the village back to his lonely life inside the lighthouse, the leader of the village came riding up to him on a beautiful mare. He was offering the horse to Beowulf! This offer was one that Beowulf could not refuse, so he lived out the rest of his life in the village, forming his strongest bonds yet with Kevin, his new horse, and a countless number of townspeople.