It had begun. It had begun quicker than Erling had expected. Before he could tell his senses what was about to happen, before he could decide upon a plan that might keep him alive, the Wargs were upon them. He had little time to realise what had happen and even less time to decide how to act.
Clutching his knife, he began hitting this way and that, without pausing to look whether his blows struck home or not. At one point, he was sure he had hit something, but he did not dare to stop and look. He was barely thinking about what he was doing. Everything was happening much too fast, and anyway he was growing tired. Only one thing was urging him on-the will to survive, the knowledge that, if he stopped, he would surely be killed. At one point, he dimly registered that Sam had joined him. He smiled slightlly, glad in some part of his head that he was no longer alone.
Suddenly, there was a brief pause in the attack and Erling caught a glimpse of Kuric lying motionless on the ground and of Lea and Orin rushing to his aid. For some time he stood still watching them, although his weariness made it dificult for him to register what he was seeing. Nor did he have too much time for it. Once again he was attacked, and once more he began fighting, moved only by his desperate will to live yet another minute longer.
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