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The Summer was already hot enough even without the recent increase of hell hounds in the area. Aldrun had heard that a nearby town was under threat and he wished to aid them and if too late, help rebuild and defend against further attacks, he was travelling through the night, his feet weary from the trek.

He was passing through farm country, large open plains of crop. The sight lines were great and the moon light alongside Aldrun’s natural dark vision gave him confidence to do such treks. Not long after the stars had moved halfway across the sky, he spied an orange glow among the fields near a homestead. Aldrun started jogging, long strides but not so fast as to tire himself before reaching the stead.

Drawing closer to the homestead, he first hears screams of a woman and shouts of a child, then the now all too common growls of hounds from hell. Slowing his pace, he drew the Elven sword, its topaz hilt enhanced by the growing fires around. Aldrun’s armour made it difficult to sneak up, but a dead cow occupied the hounds. He counted a hand’s worth, two near him and the cow, the others at the homestead entrance.

He got close but not close enough before the ones feeding on the cow noticed him, a hound rounded to the left, another to the right, the others guarded their feed. Aldrun swung his blade at the right, slashing the hound as it stepped closer. Bright red blood steamed from the wound. The hound on the left took its chance but was too slow for the light blade. A sharp yelp drew the attention of the rest. Aldrun, not giving it a chance to recover, followed through slashing its throat.

The first hound pacing to put Aldrun in the middle of the group. Seeing its plan, he chased after the hurt hell hound. It wasn’t enough. One from the stead bounded the distance and jumped on Aldrun, searing teeth biting into Aldrun’s arm, a guard protected from the upper jaw but not the lower. In no position to swing a sword, Aldrun moved his arm and the mongrel in front of himself and dropped his weight toward onto the ground. With a quick grab of the mongrel’s head, Aldrun freed his caught arm and twisted the head around, letting out a deep crack. The beast still alive panted hard, but could only twitch and flounder as it tried moving.

Standing up, Aldrun heard a voice, the child. “Sir! I can help.”

Glancing around Aldrun’s eyes landed on the now open front door of the homestead, a boy the height of Aldrun’s waist, he held a short sword with both hands, much too heavy for a little human’s strength, the blade’s tip barely off the ground. The hurt hound and one from the house remained focused on Aldrun, but the boy found one staring him down.