The Better Part of Valor

 



Tengweerfanda drifted on silent wings as the battle raged below. She kept a sharp eye on Ritter, one of the few warriors who had joined this ridiculous errand.

"We must do this, Teng," Ritter had said as she perched on his shoulder on the march out to meet the foe. "Even if we lose, we will not let the outpost be overrun without a fight. The townspeople may join us yet."

"Men are fools," she had replied.

Her opinion was not improving as she watched the heavy troops of Jirrah lose ground a little at a time. Even though they inflicted frightful damage on the enemy, nothing seemed to stem the tide of beasts emerging in seemingly endless waves from the Dreamwood.

Teng saw a shape - it was Ritter! - stumble back from the ragged lines of his comrades. He gulped some water from his leather wineskin and tightened a strap on his bracer. Wiping his brow, he charged back in.

For a moment, she lost him among the claws and fur of the enemy. Then she spotted him once more, beset on all sides, pinned by the press of foes and shackled by their savage attack.

Again he slipped away and staggered back for another sip and a quick refit of his armor.

She swooped down and landed on his shield. "Have you had enough yet?" The Jirrah force had been pushed back to the archway, the first marker where the wilds started changing over to town.

He sighed. "I think we have. If you will be so kind, please take our plea for help into town."

"And what shall I say?"

He sighed again and surveyed the carnage. "Tell them the bunnies are kicking our asses."



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