Crom locked eyes with the werewolf. Clearly the knife was going to be of very little use against the monstrosity that now stood before him. He had grown quite a bit, and it was obvious he was quite strong. The tall man yanked the knife from his leathery flesh before he could try to take it from him. In the next moment, the werewolf lunged forward in an attempt to headbutt him. Crom brought his arm up in front of him, knife in hand, and braced for collision. He felt Soah's skull crack into his forearm. His boots slid back in the snow as the lycan struck him. The werewolf struck with more force than even the strongest man. Crom couldn't afford to make any mistakes in this fight, if he did he was almost certainly dead. The strike from Soah's skull bruised his off hand. The soldier backstepped from his opponent, sheathing his knife and grabbing the hilt of his sword simultaneously. The polished steel flashed as Crom drew his blade. The weapon was well made, and appeared almost delicate with it's long, slender blade, but the steel was incredibly hard, and had stood the test of countless battles. The Esterlian flourished the weapon, the afternoon light shimmering against the blade. A faint confidence filled Crom's eyes. He never felt more comfortable than he did with a sword in his hand. "Come on then," He said, his voice as gruff as ever, but now filled with a fervency that it had previously lacked. He motioned for the lycan to come closer, flourishing the blade again while backing away from the rest of the party.