The werewolf was fast, but Bors was for once faster. The creature lounged for the defenseless fisherman, determined to devour him, but Bors managed to get his shield between them in the last second. The impact sent him tumbling with the beast on top of him, its jaws snapping at him only a few inches from his face. When they finally stopped, the werewolf was on top of him, trying to bite his face and raking his mail with its claws. In a desperate surge of strength, Bors managed to catch it on its chest with his legs and shoved it off him. By the time he got up it was on him again, slamming its weight against his shield. He deflected the creature and slashed it across its back, causing the it to send out a yelp which echoed off the walls of the chapel. The werewolf tumbled into the likeness of the Golden Goddess, which tipped and fell to the floor, but was up on its legs again in a heartbeat.
It was a hideous creature, Bors reflected. Its fur was ragged and black, its eyes small and filled with hatred. The jaws were bleeding red, twisted things full of yellow and brown fangs. The werewolf snarled menacingly, but circled the hunter this time in stead of charging in. They learned fast, these predators.
Bors knew he couldn't kill it with the steel of his blade alone. He would need to pierce it with his sacred silver dagger before cutting it down. Slowly, he reached for its holster located on his back, only to find it empty! He must've dropped it while tumbling with the beast! In a moment of being unfocused, he forgot to keep his eyes on the wolf and tried to spy the dagger with his eyes. As a result, he was knocked back onto the fallen likeness of his deity and fell into the wall behind it, hitting the back of his head against the cold stone and dropping his sword in the process. It was all he could do to cover behind his shield as the beast came down upon him, tearing and bashing at his mail and shield with fangs and claws. He could see his sword just a few feet away from him, so he tried to reach out for it but could only manage to touch the pommel with the tips of his fingers.
Help me! he called out, hoping that the fisherman had not fled, get it off me!
Ia ia Darkelf fhtagn!