A blur of movement; shapes shifting and colours raging all around him. Éomeléo, when he needed it most, had the composure of mind to halt for a few seconds to survey the situation.
The Elves had charged the attackers. Who these men were the Gondorian had no inkling but what was clear was that much blood would be spilled out of this enmity. The elf Arianna had already slain two men and the others seemed filled with bloodlust. What reasoning was there to this horror? Éomeléo spied Dárin looking bewildered despite his solid Dwarven instincts – he was able to join the fight very quickly. But in the madness of battle, Valesseka had been lost. Eyes darting, he searched the field for her.
There she was, locked in combat with one of the attackers. Éomeléo decided that here was where he was needed most. He charged her assailant and with all his might smashed the sword from his hand. The foe fled, and his nearest companion, a small wiry man, retreated in the face of the angered Gondorian. Éomeléo was free now to check on Valesseka.
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