The slap against the back of his head was no more than the buzz of a fly in one’s ear: annoying but painless. Oscar’s eyes did not leave the orc. That would be a mistake that could cost the man his life. What this imp of a man that struck him did not know was the manner in which the orc came upon the two others. The look in his eyes that dealt death with each glance was something that this boy of a man did not see. Oscar had no intention of letting his attention be diluted until the situation was resolved between the orc and him. 

Rupert saw Sam’s attack, witnessing it with hazy clarity from the eyes of a horse. The steed turned, and broke into a quick trot, lowering his head and butting against him. It would feel like a small train ran over the top of Sam, though the hooves missed every part of his body. The horse stood with its head lowered and lips pulled away. They may not have been sharp like a wolf’s or able to pierce like a dagger, but the horse’s teeth would crush his face if he laid another hand on Rupert’s companion. 

A smirk snuck onto Oscar’s face as he heard the thud behind him and the clomp of feet as they stilled at his rear. His wrist turned slightly, the blade resting before the orc, held by a gentle grasp.