Allright the Fire, here's my post. Like I've mentioned before, it's not perfect. If you can tell me what's missing, or if there's something I need to take out, you'll be rewarded with cuddles. :P
The second sentence also irritates me. I don't know how to re-word it.
Can you tell there's a writer's block gaining strength here? :P
~*~
The dagger sank in and tore. The sickening smell and warmth of Helm’s fluid on his hands was all lost on Sorn. It was just the act, and the simple instinct. Helm bellowed, and the sound rose and rent the hillside as Sorn withdrew and plunged the blade again and again.
Scyld and the girl disappeared, as all the things that had once mattered were sifted in with the dirt under his feet. Helm’s blood mixed with his. He could feel the pain growing on his senses; the great weight of the blow to his skull. Sorn faltered, his arms going slack at his sides. He fell, a great weight to the dirt.
He mingled with the dust. He mingled with everything that did not matter. Sorn wished to laugh, at the great ruin he had made of himself, but his throat was too tight. His body lost all composure, and he could not lift his head from the dirt.
He heard shouting, and panicked cries all around him. He heard running, and the steady ringing thump of hooves growing louder. He saw Helm stagger, and begin to fall.
That was the last thing Sorn of Rohan saw. All was lost to him. All that was left of him is was crime, and the smear of shame that ended his house and line.
~*~*~
Have at it! I do agree i'd suit being before your post, which leads to an apology for not conquering it sooner.
- Tara