He lost awareness of the battle raging around him. Muting the screams and clashing of weapons, his attention lurched and focused on the man dying before him. Remote from his own body, he found that his sword hand still grasped Sweothol. In a mechanical, unconscious motion, he withdrew the blade from the man’s chest with a tug. The Caergilese warrior’s thick blood gushed out. His eyes, bulging with knowledge of his end, stared into Dayraven’s.
