Drust leapt quickly from the brush and the rest of us followed in a similar way, screaming and swinging.

A swarm of spears and screams shoot through the wood, and then are silenced by the sounds of metal and dying men.

I run onward with the group, all of us moving furiously toward Gorma as she sits stunned by the onslaught of her companions attacking her captors.

I see Cinaedh reach her and fight a skilled swordsman. When the man falls it changes the game. This is no longer about rescue, but something else.

I turn and roar loud like a hellish beast, my axe held high over my head. I stand straight and tall to make myself a target. I taunt the enemy, and wave them closer while planting both feet wide and steady myself. I wait only a fraction of a moment before a group of men fall onto me.

When they are done so is the skirmish. I methodically make certain that those that I’ve fought will not be back to do so again in this life.

The birds have all left the trees and there is little talk. The sound of a breeze shaking the leaves around us is as loud now as surf crashing against rock. For some time now I’ll hear everything as crisp and clear as if I was listening for it, my vision will be wide and scanning, my skin dense and unfeeling, as this is the way it always is after a fight.

I let the others trail ahead of me a bit as we follow the lovers out of the wood. Sometimes it takes a while before the mind convinces the body that the fight is over. Besides, I want to make sure that no one comes behind us.