Vulm turned his head sharply, for he had just realized that he had been paying no attention to what Felmi was saying. So he simply cocked an eyebrow, betraying none of the shock he felt upon returning to reality. Then he noted that Felmi was probably just bragging, for he appeared to expect no answer. Vulm admired the trio of human skulls hung from Felmi's belt, proof of his accomplishments in battle.
Vulm continued dragging a whetstone alone the edge of his sword. He had taken it from the hands of a man he had beaten to death with a large stone. There was no dishonor in the kill, for it was during his first battle. He had dropped his cracked long ax for a more direct weapon. That day had gifted Vulm with many kills, and passage into the great hall of the gods. He was off in his head again, he realized, but he did not care. Felmi had finally shut up and was staring into the fire.
Vulm felt hope rise in his chest that this was the morning of his next triumph. He knew he would be greeted as a champion in the afterlife, but he still did not want to die. After all, no one could truthfully promise beautiful women and the stoutest drinks in the afterlife for sure. Nobody had come back to tell stories. He supposed he could live without either, so long as he still held his sword. He sheathed it slowly, to hear the grate of metal on metal, and set the whetstone aside.
There was a shout in the darkness, followed by the familiar sounds of weapons finding flesh. Cries of pain went up to the sky; then cries of alarm. The sounds multiplied among the trees. It was an attack. Immediately Vulm and Felmi were on their feet. A spear flew from the blackness, and impaled Felmi through the chest. Felmi fell. Without pause, Vulm drew the spear from it's grisly sheathe, saw that Felmi still tightly gripped his handaxe, and sprinted into the darkness from where the spear had flown.
As he plunged into the night, his eyes adjusted from the fire. He saw several dead kinsmen, and several more still clinging together to fend off a host of horsemen. Romans. A horseman lagging behind the assault saw Vulm, and came directly at him. Vulm planted his feet, and readied himself, drawing a small throwing ax from his belt. As the rider neared, he loosed the small ax, and it plunged into the horseman's right shoulder, just underneath the armor. This gave Vulm time to dodge to the other side of the horse, and bury the spear under the man's jaw. The horse carried the corpse past Vulm's field of vision, as four more horsemen entered the clearing from his right. Only one of his kinsmen still stood against a dozen Romans, and Vulm had no time to close distance to him, for two horsemen broke from the assault to charge at him. Vulm was outnumbered, and he could certainly not outrun the horses. The Romans spared few. Vulm did the only thing he could, and charged at the two horsemen. As he reached for his sword, Vulm felt his entire body go numb. It was adrenaline, he knew, and he shook off the shock from the spear now lodged firmly in his belly.
Vulm roared, pulling the spear from his gut. He felt his bodily pressure change as blood and entrails exited his body in a spurt. The Roman weapon hit the hard earth with a solid clunk. He had just enough time to hurl the spear still in his hand, and draw his sword. The spear missed entirely, but Vulm did not care. He fell onto his stomach, tasting the dirt as the two horsemen came to a halt beside him. He heard heavy feet striking ground, and the slick ringing of a sword being drawn. Vulm felt the sword enter his heart like winter in his chest. At least, he thought, he still held his own sword. The gods would welcome him. He was sure of it.
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