"Eorlingas! Ride on, through their ranks and make them return to the hills!", the maegisterwigend of the small Éored bellowed out before he stirred his steed on into the thickness of the dunlending raiding party.
Eosang breathed heavily as he stuck his heels into his horses sides, urging it on in line with the rest of the charging cavalry. The wildmen were prepared, and crude spears with harsh barbed tips were pointing out towards the oncoming horses. A warhorn blew, deep and loud, which made the hill men shout and cry out their battle cries. They ran forth with their spears still out right before they met the horses in an almighty clash!
Horses stumbled down, sending their riders out of their saddles and charging forth into the ranks of the dunlendings to make them fall to the ground. The bodies that did fall into the thick mud were soon to have knives put into them to make them scream during the throng of battle. Eosang was one of the unfortunate ones to be cast from his horse..
With a face full of mud, he pushed himself up before a crude blade could be sunk into him and managed to stick his own sword into the barely-dressed wildman that charged at him. He fought well, ducking and blocking blows where he could as he tried desperately to regroup with his men in the midst of the battle. Eventually, he managed it and there was a moment to breath..
"Eosang, my brother!", a bloodied man patted him on the back, "We might just be able to get from here if we break the wall and make it to the horses!"
"Then let us hurry.. for I do not wish to see more bloodshed of our kin on this day." Eosang grimaced and tightened his dented helm on his head and gripping his sword.
Forward the small company marched, hacking and slashing the wildmen in their way though the did not make much progress in movement. A horn blew, deep and long which made the wildmen cheer and push on with renewed ferocity. Now, throughout the gathering of men pushed a larger one with a bears head covering his own. His bare chest was covered in tattoos and blood. He pushed his way through the crowd, axe raised high and shouting louder.
"Berahéafod! It is Berahéafod!", Eosang cried out as he looked towards the oncoming figure. The Eorlingas barely had time to think until he was upon them, bursting into their small circle with his hands grabbing and pulling whilst his axe found flesh to bite into. A green painted shield, with a white horse running on the front, was split in two and thrown over his head. His shoulder was cut open and blood trickled down his dark skin though it did not stop Berahéafod.
His wildmen swarmed, and soon none of the raiding party were standing but their heads were taken from their bodies and carried as trophies of good luck as they chased the fleeing Forgoil away; stealing their horses and armour and returning to camp victorious.
