Could he be really dead, I wondered, or did he live on elsewhere?
My faith had taught me of a place called Valhalla where brave men went, but in that faith and its gods I believed no more.
This Valhalla was but a child's tale, invented by a bloody-minded folk who loved slaughter.

Wherever Steinar and the others were, it was not in Valhalla.

Then, perhaps, they slept like the beasts do after these have been butchered.

Perhaps death was the end of all.

It might be so, and yet I did not believe it.