confrontation. "I hear you, my lord."
      The leader of the shield-maids on the distant hillock smiled, and her eyes sparkled. She was pleased.
      Thora of Wildenstain straightened up, and looked down into the ranger's eyes. "Your answer, Herr 'Langshenkel'?"
      Longshanks steeled himself and pushed away from the wall. In doing so, his gaze moved out and over the surrounding landscape outside the keep. It lit upon a figure standing in the middle of the road. It was the figure of a maiden, mounted upon a dark horse, looking back at the keep.
      He heard O'Cuire stifle something akin to a guffaw, then allowed himself a smile, and turned back to the woman-knight, the Valkyr. A strange, gentle, illuminating calm washed over him. It was in that moment, he knew, that he loved that maid. That he loved her more than life itself; his own, or that of his friend beside him. He made his choice, the only one left open to him. "Ride, little one. Ride for home", he thought.

 

      "What say you to surrender, friend Timeras?" he heard himself saying over one shoulder.
      "Not bloody likely," The reply was quick, accompanied by another snort of derision.
      Longshanks nodded, then, gritting his teeth once again, reached down and snapped the head off the quarrel protruding from his leg, and, grasping the shaft, pulled the rest of the bolt through his leg. He gasped audibly in pain, then, looking at the warrior woman, spat on the bloody pieces of broken shaft, and threw them down at her feet.
      She glanced down at the pieces, then back up at the ranger. "That then, is your answer?"
      He stared into that pale blue sea. "There can be no other."
      The two ravens atop the barbican crest croaked and cawed and beat the air, then took to flight with the fluttering of heavily feathered wings. Pinions black as night floated in their wake.

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