[Arry]

Wulfham


The cat, Dorran’s arrow stuck in the left haunch, leapt at her tormentor. Brand raced toward his companion, a growing fear that he would not come soon enough. His oaken cudgel was held high in his right hand as he reached the now downed Dorran.

The force of the cougar’s leap had knocked the young man down and her jaws sought his throat for the kill. Dorran blocked the cat’s mouth with his bow and his arm as best he could.

Brand swung his club knocking hard against the cat’s left shoulder, driving the sharp teeth from their target. The cat rounded on him, snarling, and he strove to drive it away with the burning brand. It proved only a momentary deterrent.

With one swipe of her mighty paw, she knocked the brand from his hand, her claws raking down his left arm. Brand dropped his club, there was no room to use it; his sword, still in its sheath could not be drawn quickly enough.

And then she was nearly upon him . . .

The razor sharp tips of her left paw cut deep gouges on the right side of his face from temple to chin, missing by only a little his eye and the unprotected place at the side of his neck where the pulse beat rapidly. The cat crouched low, her muscles quivering with deadly intent. She sprang up and toward him, covering the short distance in less than the blink of an eye.

Brand barely had time to draw his knife with his right hand, and set it as a last defense against the cat’s mortal attack. The weight of her drove him backwards; he felt her hot breath upon his face. The knife, held in a near death grip in both his hands, sank deep into the cat’s chest. He felt the warm blood of her rush over his fingers.

She bore him down, pinning him between the unforgiving hardness of the ground and her self. His head struck hard against the dirt and darkness took him . . .