With every turn Brandon took, he found his knights reducing in numbers, in a strange yet dreadful way. He caught a shriek or two behind the woods, a finality of subtraction in his kingsguard.
He whipped his head around, his heart slamming against his ribcage. There were only a meagre ten knights or so left, if he had the luxury to count!
A shadow moved from behind the trees, so fast Bran lost track of its movements. What the hell were they dealing with here? He had never seen a thing move so fast and kill clean? Strangely, no bodies of his fallen knights were spotted, only a sound of tearing flesh or a yelp.
His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword and he dared not to move. The remaining knights circled around him, their faces masked in a cloak of fear. And the sight was one to behold; the ever proud and fearless knighthood in a frenzy!
