* Quiver Giles did, for without the protection of his cloak, the night wind too became an attacking foe, an invisible warg with gusty howl and fangs of ice. Yet the bulky cloak and clanging shield had limited his movement. Now that he'd lost them, his world became quick and free. And he'd rehearsed for this moment in his mind. So often, that vivid images of the actions he meant to take left no room for images of panic. *
* As the warg strode forward, eyes gazing with garish yellow glint, the very ground seemed to become the warg's ground. Giles shifted his weight onto his right foot, balancing his left foot lightly on the tips of his toes, poised. The serpent dagger became a centering force, a balance rudder in a mobile grip. The unobtrusive pepper container held leisurely as if to flavor bacon. *
* The waiting game ended. The warg launched itself in on Giles with scrabbling claws. But Giles caught the warg full in the eyes and nose with a dusty pepper-cloud. The warg retaliated with a swift jerk of its muzzle, knocking the pepper-shaker skidding across a patch of ice. *
* Giles used the momentary distraction to cartwheel himself up atop the warg's back. Landing among the coarse hairs in smooth acrobatic form long-practiced, Giles swung down his weapon hand, directing a successful dagger plunge into the straining beast. Blood flowed from the hole like a mockery of dark-daubed perfume, but did not seem to seriously impair the warg. Giles tugged at the weapon, cleanly pulled it free, gripped the handle tightly for another blow ... then suddenly remembered where he was and that he hadn't exactly planned this far ahead. "Now what?" he wondered. *
[ January 21, 2003: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]
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