Cateline nodded deftly to the bold words of Azalea, trusting her as a woman of her word, simply to let her know she had been heard. She saw the wolves rumble in violent shocks of white, circling closer to Jorn and Angriff, and saw the former be thrown from his seat. Heard the awful sound of a sharp wolf-bite hitting its mark, fangs into supple flesh, and the rumbling growls of the wolves behind it. Her senses were fully alive, the smell of blood further mixing into the soft sent of the icey woodlands. None of it shook her aim as her fired arrow struck one of the vicious creatures charging at the two with the innocent child, after the knight slashed the most immediate threat, deterring the creature.
She mutters, “Such horrid beasts do not know when to give up,” then glances behind herself, gauging the distance between the other wolves and where her horse temporarily resides. “Should you need my help,” she says firmly to Azalea, “Shout.” She had just enough time to see Zoltan extinguish one of the charging wolves’ lives, before turning back. They had better chances, now, but the rest of their party was in trouble.
Cateline had made the choice of her next target, nocking a third arrow into place and aiming at a second white wolf nearer to Jorn and Angriff, as they were sorely outnumbered. The downed man would need all the help he could get, with no horse and little time to react. She pulled the string taut, fingers placed delicately above and below the nock of the arrow, with her other hand firmly clasping the grip out in from of her. With a twang, she fired her next shot, fletching hissing through the air.
She whistled sharply to her hawk, giving it a brief command with the flick of her hand to strike at the wounded wolf when given a chance, or to at least distract it and push it away from the rest of the pack. The fowl was smart enough to know that it should err on the side of caution, as it was much smaller than the canine predators, and could easily be torn apart. It held a fair distance as long as the wolves stayed clumped tightly together, waiting for an opening to strike.
She mutters, “Such horrid beasts do not know when to give up,” then glances behind herself, gauging the distance between the other wolves and where her horse temporarily resides. “Should you need my help,” she says firmly to Azalea, “Shout.” She had just enough time to see Zoltan extinguish one of the charging wolves’ lives, before turning back. They had better chances, now, but the rest of their party was in trouble.
Cateline had made the choice of her next target, nocking a third arrow into place and aiming at a second white wolf nearer to Jorn and Angriff, as they were sorely outnumbered. The downed man would need all the help he could get, with no horse and little time to react. She pulled the string taut, fingers placed delicately above and below the nock of the arrow, with her other hand firmly clasping the grip out in from of her. With a twang, she fired her next shot, fletching hissing through the air.
She whistled sharply to her hawk, giving it a brief command with the flick of her hand to strike at the wounded wolf when given a chance, or to at least distract it and push it away from the rest of the pack. The fowl was smart enough to know that it should err on the side of caution, as it was much smaller than the canine predators, and could easily be torn apart. It held a fair distance as long as the wolves stayed clumped tightly together, waiting for an opening to strike.
