On leftovers ana breakfast   like the spleenish wulf the wéstenas chase.

He sets out hungry,   nose in the wind, up the wulfhleoþu. 

After a luckless trek,   he gilleþ; and gaunt companions answer 

(Greyed out,   thin as yarrow stalks 

Or like bees   bereaved by a honey thief, 

Their mouths agape—   jaws like hacked tree trunks). 

He gellende and they gellende   across the desert forum. 

He standing and they standing   blinking sympathy at one another. 

He complaining and they complaining then mutually turning away— 

Comforted.   Wita sceal geþyldig.

He turning back and they turning back   on ófost. 

Earm ánhaga   hiding his wretchedness.