Melcildir was still pondering the words of Lofinnaes; they relieved him a bit. He smiled as he came to a shocking realization: these Elves had become his friends. His thoughts were adverted from happy memories by Maeralagos' cry: "There are wolves to the North!"
Melcildir immediately grabbed his bow and fitted an arrow to the string. A rustle in the brush ahead caught his attention; he fired into the darkness.
Hearing the whimper of an injured wolf, he drew his daggers and ran ahead with the usual swiftness and silence of the Elves.
He found the wolf he had shot in an outrage. The arrow was stuck in his side and blood gushed from the wound. Melcildir rushed forward and was greeted by the snarling jaws of the wolf. He quickly thrust his dagger into it's side and slashed at it's throat. It fell in a crumpled heap on the ground and moved no more.
He was stunned by the ferosity of the wolf. But as the vauge shape of a Warg passed through the shadows ahead of him, Melcildir knew that they did not act alone.
The fight turned out better than he had thought. He had only a few minor wounds on his arm where the animal had bit him. He stared for a long time at the body, but the cries of his companions aroused his senses once more.
Adrenalin pumping, he ran back to the place were Bordarigorn was sleeping and saw the man fighting about five of the evil wolves by himself. He watched Bordarigorn slay the wolves one by one with fascination and new respect for him.
Melcildir was caught entirely unaware of a wolf behind him and he was knocked breathless on the ground, the wolf biting his forearm as he shielded his face from the ripping fangs. With a quick slash of his dagger, he cut the wolf's stomach open and it's blood soon covered his hands and clothes.
Infuriated, it leapt at the Elf and knocked his arm, sending his dagger flying through the air. Now without a weapon and no time to draw his sword, Melcildir aimed a kick into the wolf's ribs. The blow made the wolf back off a bit, giving Melcildir enough time to stand and grab his bow from the ground. His arrows were scattered around on the ground and he reached around frantically to find one. The wolf was gathering himself for another spring.
Drawing his sword, Melcildir stood facing the wolf. The thing did not feel natural to his hands as his daggers did. But, there was no time to think, only act, for the wolf jumped at him ot once. Instantly, he dropped to the ground and slashed upward with his sword. The wolf fell dead beside him.
Melcildir stood again and wiped blood off of his sword onto the grass. He returned it to it's sheath and rested a bit next to the wolf's dead body. His cloak and light green overshirt and tunic were stained red from the wolf's blood mixed with his own. But his first sword fight had been won. He no longer felt awkward about carrying it at his side. He was quite proud of himself; he had overcome in his first run-in with the vicious wild wolves out in the open.
His arm was slashed open and his back was covered in long, bloody scratches. Slowly and with much effort, he returned to the camp area to find Bordarigorn surrounded by wolf bodies. As he approached Bordarigorn and Durelin, he saw another Elf returning from his left.
"Are you allright?" Melcildir shouted to him.
At least they're alive, he thought.
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