[center][h1]ℜ𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱[/h1][/center]
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With hoarse cry, Renault twisted his upper body, using his momentum to sweep his blade backwards, cleaving into the rat and ending its wretched existence. Freeing his blade from the flesh of the creature with a sickening [i]squelch[/i], Renault's arm fell to his side, fingers loosening their grip on the hilt as his hand began to ache tremendously.

Fatigue washed over him as the adrenaline of battle subsided. His shield hung on his arm like a dead weight dragging him ever-downward, and the growing stiffness of his fingers threatened to send his sword flying should he attempt another swing. By Erithar, he was out-of-shape. The tired soreness of his muscles seemed to only aggravate the pain in his leg, turning his gait into a proper limp.

Their reprieve lasted only a moment, if that, as one more rat emerged from the farmhouse, incensed at the death of its brood-brothers and sisters. Lunging at the first person it saw - that person being Quentin - Renault began to slowly hobble his way closer to the building. He was in no state to sprint, and even if he were, this final foe didn't seem particularly worth the effort. Quentin had repelled its initial attack with ease, and it was likely the rat would be slain within seconds. If not, he would answer. But until then, his only course of action was slowly closing the distance separating them, keeping the rat contained, if nothing else.