Once again, the question was interrupted, but this time by a far fouler cause. Suddenly, all the foreboding that he lurked in Erdaminéon’s mind became apparent. They were being stared down by a line of ten glittering eyes.
“Wolves” hissed Mearalagos. The elves leapt silently to their feet, drawing their bows, ready for attack. Erdaminéon took the last opportunity to speak with Melcildir before what could be a desperate fight for a lost cause.
“If you are indeed to die, then rest assured, we will die with you. But for the moment at least let us hope your prediction, if that it be, is not too near at hand.” He wished he could say more to comfort, or even explain to the elf, but there was no time.
With this, he turned and let an arrow fly into the shadows. It was greeted by yelps of pain from the wolf, and of fear from those around it. The arrows of the other elves were soon to join his first, but soon they realised that it was not a mere hunting pack they were pitted against. More wolves were drawing in from either side, and suddenly five wolves and a great warg leader leapt at them from behind. Erdaminéon spun around, for the time forgetting the wolves either side, and shot at those who had taken down three of his companions of whom in the darkness he recognised one to be Bordarigorn. His arrow pierced the throat of one wolf, and the arrows of the other three still standing struck others. Erdaminéon turned and shot desperately at the warg who lead the attack, but the arrow hardly seemed to pierce the skin. The warg continued, unharmed, but in the absence of his attention one of the wolves flew at the startled elf, knocking him to the ground. It was slain almost instantly by the arrow of one of those who remained on their feet, but not quickly enough to avoid all injury. Blood soaked his cloak as he struggled to his feet to continue the fight. It seemed that Bordarigorn had recovered his feet also, but there was no time to count heads. The struggle continued, and the outnumbered elves began to feel there was no hope. However, almost as suddenly as it had begun the attack ceased. The last of the attackers Erdaminéon saw were three great wargs, disappearing between the trees. The ground around them was littered with wolf carcases, and it seemed that the earth ran with blood. Those that could, stood, waiting, afraid of another attack, but it never came. After a while, the elves sank back off guard, and began to tend to various wounds.
A voice was calling out, checking if everyone was all right. It sounded like Bordarigorn. Erdaminéon sat apart from the group, holding his cloak tight to his arm to stem the bleeding. The others were all seeing to their own wounds. Durelin was cleaning his weapons a short distance away. Erdaminéon began to look about in search of the others, but looking made his head spin. He sat back against the tree trunk, for a short rest, and let his eyes close.
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