Ransom's leg had progressed from a dull pain to sharp, stabbing bursts of pain. Each step, nay, each breath hurt. Was this Culloth woman bloodthirsty? Did she not know that the Warg would quickly flank them? That they enjoyed the hunt?
To his right, Elwyn gave a shout while looking to his right. Too late.
The first warg died in midair, His head nearly severed by a black blade. Someone behind yelled another warning. Ransom felt like he was moving in water, the world seeming to slow. Another wolf jumped at him, only to fall with half a foot of steel poking out of his back. The last memory was a dull thud that knocked him to the ground, followed by the clang of Elwyn's spear as it bit through the wolf and impacted his armor. For the second time, blackness consumed him.
[ August 31, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]
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"The blood of the dead mixes with the the flowing sand and grants more power to the killer."--Gaara of the Desert
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