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Seeing everyone around him draw their weapons, Léof had followed suit, unsheathing his short knife and holding it awkwardly in front of him. The short weapon was of small comfort; even if he really had known how to use it for fighting, he imagined that it was too short to be really effective: it was scarcely half a foot long. He wished that they had not had to spread out so much, even if two or three of the others were within sight, if he looked for them. He felt utterly incapable, and, yes, scared. His knife hand was trembling slightly. Why had he come? He had known he wouldn’t be much use in fighting. He was more like to get himself captured like Eodwine, or killed, than to be of any help.
He walked forward slowly, listening carefully for any sound. Every dell, every tree seemed to hide an outlaw. Then somewhere off to his right there was a clashing; Léof jumped at the sudden noise. He hesitated; ought he to keep going, or run towards the sound? Did someone need help? Had they found something? Without thinking too hard about it he began to run in that direction. Before he had gone even three steps, he tripped and went flying, landing heavily on his stomach. Just as he was reorienting himself, something large landed on top of him. One word registered in Léof’s hazy mind:
Outlaw!
He began to struggle, kicking wildly and trying to get the great brute off of him. He felt crushed, unable to draw a deep breath of air. One of his kicks connected firmly and he felt the man grunt and move slightly off him. He managed a gasp of breath and cried out. Help! He needed help!
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