[Luckily, this last one's lost track of his short sword and in the pell-mell scrabble has forgotten the knife in his belt. Instead, he grasps after Yseult's thighs. Reaches blindly higher, grappling and striking whatever falls within the range of his knuckles while his head and heels both thrash like that of a tangled animal struggling to right itself.
Flint's arrival is less pounding foot falls and more hardscrabble over the muddy, torn up turf. With similarly little fanfare, the man trapped in the vice of Yseult's knees doesn't scream when the knife punches up between his ribs. He just jerks in surprise, first under the abrupt planting of Flint's knee in his middle and then again for the pop of the knife. The sound he might make is squashed into a gurgling inhale.
And then, abruptly, they are the two people left at the top of a corpse strewn hillside.]
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of his knuckles while his head and heels both thrash like that of a tangled animal struggling to right itself.
Flint's arrival is less pounding foot falls and more hardscrabble over the muddy, torn up turf. With similarly little fanfare, the man trapped in the vice of Yseult's knees doesn't scream when the knife punches up between his ribs. He just jerks in surprise, first under the abrupt planting of Flint's knee in his middle and then again for the pop of the knife. The sound he might make is squashed into a gurgling inhale.
And then, abruptly, they are the two people left at the top of a corpse strewn hillside.]