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Old 01-15-2008, 04:30 PM   #224
Messenger of Hope
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Join Date: Jun 2005
Location: In a tiny, insignificant little town in one of the many States.
Posts: 5,228
Folwren is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Folwren is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
“My lords! My lords! A boar for your lances!”

The call came from their left. Shouts rose among the men, but no one spurred their horses before Uldor and Ulfast. Side by side they urged their mounts, wheeling about and galloping forward. With excited shouts, several of the hunters split off to their right and others to the left, all with the intent to surround and capture the boar.

Ahead, Uldor could see the two young men waving their spears, and still shouted with excitement. And running in the space between them and the Ulfing princes the boar came pelting.

He was a large beast, his tusks shown white in the sunlight, and his eyes were red with fury at being disturbed. He charged forward, headlong into the line of horsemen waiting for him, directly towards the brothers Uldor and Ulfast. The two of them shifted their lances in their hands, lifting them from their resting place on the stirrups and turned them to be thrust downward, piercing the animal as it came near.

As it came charging on, it became evident that it would pass directly between them, on Ulfast’s right and Uldor’s left. Uldor reined in his horse and tried to bring him around in order that his spear might come to bear. Ulfast continued to gallop straight onward.

The lance was lowered, the point nearly grazed the ground. Two yards were between the charging horse and boar and then no space at all. The point of the lance thrust the boar in the shoulder, burying its head deep. Uldor saw Ulfast reining in his horse; he saw the lance twist cruelly in his hand and arm. The boar stumbled and then got up again to run, and Ulfast was half thrown, half pulled from the saddle.

Ulfast scrambled to gain his footing. The boar was squealing and roaring with fury and his feet plowed the ground as he drove himself forward, dragging against the spear, and lunging towards Ulfast.

Uldor gripped his lance and edged his horse forward. The wild hog twisted as Uldor’s lance pierced him, but then turned again to attack Ulfast.

With a curse, Uldor leaned downwards, driving the lance deeper and deeper into the boar’s side, but still the animal did not stop. He was nearly onto Ulfast now. The younger Ulfang turned to face it. He was still not on his feet and the struggle was hopelessly one-sided.

But Uldor leaped down to the ground as well. His knife flashed out. From behind and above he struck downwards once, twice, and again and finally, the boar stopped in its attack.

There was a pause and a silence, it seemed to Uldor. He knelt, panting, above the bloody hulk and then he lifted his eyes to Ulfast. His brother sat, clutching his arm where the tusk of the boar had grazed him, also panting as he stared at Uldor.

“Well, brother,” Uldor said. “You’re not going that way. No. I need you yet.”

Last edited by Folwren; 01-19-2008 at 07:36 AM.
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