Kyrrein blinks at the horses as they scream past; the swinging branches behind them setting fire to whatever they touched.

...That would certainly work.

The archer leaps from his cover, hanging the bow from its quivver as he draws his longknife and charges behind Ekkill, spying young Leif at work already. The silent hunter grins. Only a winter or two older then Lief; he sometimes viewed the eager-to-prove himself youth as the younger brother he didnt have.

Vaulting the ruined fence, Kyrrein lands atop a running savage like a pouncing lynx; severing his throat with a single brutal slash and bounding off of the still-flailing corpse to deliver death to another.

Of course, it was inevitable when attacking a village that the screams of women and children mix quickly with those of the adult men. Kyrrein is aware only of movment around the corner of a mudbrick house - his knife darts foreward and into the gut of a boy younger even then Lief, a fishing spear of all things held in his muddy hands.

Both of them blink in surprise; though the boy's gaze quickly clouds over. Even so, he weakly jabs the spear foreward, and Kyrr makes no move to avoid it. The flimsy thing barely manages to peirce the cloth of his sleave, but the boy at least draws an enemy's blood before the life flees from his eyes. Kyrr lets the corpse drop and pulls the stick from his arm, tossing it asside with a grunt as he continues to move through the flames.

There werent many fighters left, now. The villagers were fleeing with little more then their lives into the dense woods; the fires and Ekkill's men would leave nothing for them here.

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