[Thenamir]

Thenamir thought grimly that night is not the best time to try to sleep when one is a warrior. Night attacks were the worst. He'd only had a brief and sleepy glance of the girl being carried away to Elwood's care, but he was instantly awake upon hearing the word "wargs." So much had happened since they'd left the land of Rohan that he'd taken to sleeping in his battle gear..except for the helmet. No pillow, that.

Thenamir hurried to the spot where the girl had fallen and looked out, but it was no use, there was not enough firelight. The horses began to shriek with their fear as the smell of blood and of the approaching Wargs reached them. He began barking orders: "More wood to the fire! The light works for us and against them! And have torches at the ready! Elwood, stand ready with fire arrows!" Those standing near threw all that remained of the gathered wood and brush on the fire, which crackled and blazed up, sending showers of sparks upwards, reflecting all around them at least a dozen pairs of eyes in the sudden light. What seemed a pitiful few of them took up makeshift torches and stood ready as the first Warg padded slowly into view, fully half the size of one of their horses, the half-open mouth showing rows of glistening fangs, firelight flickering in the eyes of a deadly and purposeful stare.

He watched helplessly the lead warg leapt and began ravaging Durin (who gave some of his own in return), for the attack seemed to signal the rest of the warg-pack to leap forward from the shadows, each only slightly lesser in stature than their leader. He barely registered the girl he had seen in passing, bandaged and running to Dwarin's aid before he was overtaken by two more of the snarling beasts.

Thenamir's heart pounded as they padded round him, circling. There was intelligence here, malevolent and cunning. Thenamir spun first left, then right, trying to keep track of both wargs at once, to keep shield on one and sword towards the other, hoping one would make the mistake of coming too close to his blade.

As if on cue, the darker demon-wolf made as if to leap for Thenamir's shield arm, then ducked and sank his yellowing teeth into the leather greaves he wore just below the knee. The fangs could not penetrate the stout leather, but his leg was squeezed as in a cider press, and he was dragged off balance and began to fall. The wolf's teammate, waiting the opportunity afforded by Thenamir's awkwardness, aimed to rip the wrist from his sword arm which seemed to be flailing as he fell. The warg had no way of knowing that, as in the earlier battle with the Dunlendings, falling backwards was one of Thenamir's well-practiced tactics. The flailing arm was in truth regripping the sword in a peculiar fashion via the guard which allowed him to sever most of the warg's muzzle from the rest of his face. The deformed warg retreated in haste, deprived of his most deadly weapon, howling in anguish from a bleeding mouth that he would never close again.

The second warg, seeing his comrade depart, released Thenamir's leg and tried to make a quick grab for his throat, but Thenamir's shield arm came up as quick, and all the warg got was a bloody nose and a mouthful of metal shield. Still the warg was above, and Thenamir, try as he might, could not wrest the weight of this fell beast from atop him. With the shield over his face, he could not deflect the warg's slashing teeth from his midsection, and again the warg was thwarted by iron mail. The warg roared as a tooth broke, and then fell again atop Thenamir, not moving for a moment, seeming content to slowly suffocate him by his sheer weight. Then Thenamir smelled it -- the unmistakable smell of burning hair. Elwood had shot the beast dead with one of his fire arrows, and the fire was keeping the other beasts from coming to finish him off. But if he could not roll the fell corpse from over him, he would roast alive beneath it...