As he lay unmoving long into the night, Durelin felt another cold warning run down his back. But this time, it threw him into shivering, though the fire still warmed the air. He bolted upright just as Maeralagos shouted from his guard post. Wolves! Of course we didn't notice their presence. They have always amazed me at how well the stay hidden! Now the day has come when my amazement will prove deadly.
Jumping up the elf went for his bow, he hoped to get a few shots before the pack closed in. He picked off one wolf as it was racing toward them. Lucky shot, he thought. Then he noticed that not only did the wolves come from behind, but also from both the right and left. The group was going to be pinned in the middle if they weren't careful.
As the large snarling gray forms lunged in, Durelin quickly drew his two blades. He remembered when his eyes would glaze over with a burning red of battle fury. But now, he had complete control over himself. As he swung the elvish blades in an almost graceful way, he had a bland look on his face and his mouth was slightly slack. He seemed almost bored as he sliced a wolf to his left clean in half.
Durelin was lost in his dance with death for what seemed like hours. The head of a wolf flew through the air. The sweet smell of blood was swept through the air as he slit the throat of another. A flash of gray to behind him, he turned and sliced at the same time, catching the wolf in mid spring, slicing open its stomach. The lump of lifeless flesh and fur hit Durelin hard, knocking the wind out of him and spreading its innards all over him. He staggered and dropping his blades, but he regained his balance within seconds and had his sword out standing at the ready. But as he looked around, he saw the ground was littered with the carcasses of the wolves, the flies already buzzing around, feasting on the stinking flesh. There was no sign of anything alive.
Durelin sighed and began scraping the wolf entrails off his tunic with his sword. He would need to clean it soon or the smell would sink in to his clothes. That was the last thing he needed. He wiped his sword on the grass and sheathed it, then picked up his dropped blades, adn cleaned the off. Then he could check for wounds and on his companions. This was his routine every time a fight ended. Weapons first, people second.
Durelin maneuvered his way through the foul remains over to where Bordarigorn was standing looking slightly bewildered. He had after all, been asleep when the wolves had attacked. "Everybody okay? Where are the others? Did we get them all? How about the Warg's, are they gone?" asked a fatigued sounding Bordarigorn. As Durelin came over, he laid a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder, only to have him turn on him with his knife, ready to kill.
"Relax, everything is okay," Durelin said calmly, but clearly. Bordarigorn needed to hear it, he was still filled with the confusion of battle. Durelin knew it well, he needed to hear someone else, to see someone else, alive and well. The elf was calmed as he felt the man's shoulders relax, and his breathing slow. Durelin had been just as tense as Bordarigorn, and he worried as much too. Had the others come out of this scrap as well - off as they had? Well, I still have life to live in which I may receive my revenge. I only hope that I will not have more to avenge.
[ February 18, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]
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