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Maulká hissed angrily as Nephil called for a retreat. She had only just managed to penetrate the crush at the door and her weapons were still unblooded. She ignored the order, trying to locate a suitable enemy. At once she felt something grab her wrist. Her dirk-hand trapped, she spun around to stab at her captor with her shorter knife. It was not an enemy, as she had supposed, but one of her fellow warriors. "Retreat!" the man yelled at her.
Maulká shook her head and tried to wrench her arm free. "Retreat!" the man yelled again, catching her other arm and pinning it behind her back. One of the intruders was fighting with its back to them. Finding both her arms pinned, Maulká spat the dart in her mouth at the queer creature, cursing as it bounced harmlessly off the enemy's helm.
"Retreat! We must retreat!" said her captor again. Maulka twisted her head around and bit him. He released her in surprise, but she found herself swept out of the room by a tide of her own people. She understood the reasoning behind the retreat, but it did not keep her from cursing. They ran a short ways down the hall, the few warriors who had bows guarding the rear. When they stopped, Maulká asked with some apprehension, "How many did we lose?"
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