this too was dangerous.
swing! swing! came the tines again, seeking to cut lestan, to maul him further. he parried with low dodges and bites sank deep into flesh, metallic taste a reward for all he was in that moment.
a hunter. a killer. a teacher.
lestan ran for the far round arch of the ring, directly toward tangled branches. at the last, he swerved right. stag crashed; heels drawing back, hooves flailing in rear, left side of the antlers caught in twisted vines while the witch wavered, bruised but triumphant.
a mistake now for either would prove fatal.



