The way you look at it, there are two possibilities: either some potential ally is coming your way—Black Tarn, one of the local Garou, or maybe a guardian spirit—in which case you need the help; or another enemy is moving to attack, in which case it'd be funny if it ran right into the fomor at full speed.
You scramble down the hill, trying to pinpoint the sound of rustling in the tall grasses. There's definitely someone moving your way, but the problem is how to line them up with the fomor.
The other problem is that the fomor, while probably insane, is no fool. He heads you off as you skid through mud, then suddenly leaps!
A huge weight slams into you, clipping you with a sharp hook so you both skid through the mud. Then Banicki grabs you and lifts you up. The fomor seems almost surprised that he got you. His momentary hesitation is a mistake. You pull a long awl from his belt and drive it into his neck, then you just keep stabbing him—ears, mouth, whatever you can reach. Stunned with pain, the fomor tries to angle his silver scalpel at you, but you stab him all the way through the hand, severing whatever tendons hold the weapon.
Banicki finally shakes you off, then drives his other hook between your ribs, impaling a lung. He slams you into the muddy grass, then stumbles to one knee as blood burbles out of both your mouths.
Stunned by agony, your flesh boils and writhes as the fomor slams you around.
A final, brutal slam into the turf and consciousness fades, except for a faint glint of silver.
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