The Voice.
The Boyg isn't mad.
Peer.
Strike!
The Voice.
The Boyg strikes not.
Peer.
Fight! You shall!
The Voice.
The great Boyg conquers, but does not fight.
Peer.
Were there only a nixie here that could prick me!
Were there only as much as a year-old troll!
Only something to fight with. But here there is nothing.—
Now he's snoring! Boyg!
The Voice.
What's your will?
Peer.
Use force!
The Voice.
The great Boyg conquers in all things without it.[1]
Peer.
[Biting his own arms and hands.]
Claws and ravening teeth in my flesh! I must feel the drip of my own warm blood.
[A sound is heard like the wing-strokes of great birds.
- ↑ "Med lempe," literally "by gentleness" or "easy-goingness."
"Quiescence" is somewhere near the idea.
