Ralph and the Pixie

Kneeling once more, he glanced up just long enough to note how much closer the Goblins archers were, and how many. They seemed only a stone’s throw away, at least three deep! Ralph felt his flagging reserves of confidence deserting him altogether.

‘Heads down!’

A dense black hail of enemy arrows filled the air, striking with bruising force this time, slamming into the defenders’ shields like a sickening, irrythmic drum roll. It occurred to Ralph that their plans were falling apart, that the Thane and any others who followed would find their only means of escape cut off, the defenders either killed or driven off.

The savage rain of missiles abruptly ceased, followed once more by the deafening chorus of barbaric voices.

‘Prepare to engage!’

As the defenders got to their feet, the enemy executed a perfectly timed ballet of horrific butchery. The charging lines of Goblins fell flat, exposing lines of deadly archers who fired without hesitation.

There was no time for orders; only to react-

Ralph fell to his knees, stunned, knowing he’d been hit several times, feeling that something painful had stuck in his throat. His hand encountered the bloody stump of a black-feathered arrow protruding from his neck, his gore pulsing wetly from the wound. He clutched his side where another arrow protruded, trying to draw breath, his breathing a hoarse, bloody gurgle. He tried getting to his feet, only to discover that he’d been struck in his right calf as well.