The third Norn took up the thread.
Twisting and untying, she sang of the future.
She sang of the downfall of the giants.
She sang of the time when Wotan and his family would be no more, and
bright Valhalla's halls would be only a ruin.
"But, Sisters, look!" she cried. "The day is dawning. We must make
haste!"
She tugged at the thread. The knots grew tighter.
"Oh, see!" she cried. "I cannot make it reach."
Another pull, the thread snapped.
The three Norns wailed.
Then, snatching up the broken ends of their thread of fate, they
vanished in the gloom.