[Boris]

"I'm sick of blood", thought Seami, refusing to look at the dripping mace in his right hand. "I wanted to help and to heal!"

But time for contemplation was past - a long-nailed troll-hand shot towards his face, barely deflected. Two more blows stuck the war-board, then another, then another three. Then another heavy thud, aimed at the shield itself, driving the defender to his knees. "Ouch!", he said.

Of course, balance always finds itself. The grasping arm was easily broken by a defensive stamp; the searching maw snapped up a squirrel, but left itself open for a quick retort by club, boot and arrow. A few beasts tried to listen, but their impatient laughter led only to disaster. Red trickle means nothing when the war is already lost...

Seami wiped his stained gauntlets on a filthy rag. "Soon I will have Crom Faer" he thought. "Then we'll see..."

B.