Firyr ducked it, and plunged his spear through the man's belly, seeing the shock on the man's face, as he saw the now gaping wound that the spear had left behind. "I'm not a Stormfronter, ya prick," he said, kicking the dying man to the ground, taking out a degree of his own fear in rage as he sent him crashing.
His heart was beating ever faster. He had to wonder whether one day justice would find him for the wrongs that he had committed. He was sure it would. Little dishonourable actions like that, a lack of sympathy for the dead. He didn't have the breadth of heart to afford them mercy when he was barely hanging on himself. He had just to keep dashing forward, and forward, evermore, so that he might outrun his fear, even if it meant outrunning his own men, and leaving them as far behind as he currently had.
"Sorry, Boss," Firyr said. "I just ain't cut out to be a leader. I've got to do things by myself."
