Jon closes his eyes and inhales, deep and slow, mouth a grim line.
Two of these things... he can handle two. There is no aid other than the mirror-Quentins, but that also means there’s no one he has to look out for. These creatures might have been made for fighting, or they might only be looking for easy kills, easy meals. His experience so far is that they’re a little of both, but they are not White Walkers. Maybe not even Styr or Karl Tanner. He can take them, even without help.
It’s better that he has help.
He opens his eyes, gives Quentin a firm nod, and steps through the door just before the first of the two monsters drops into the street in front of the cafe and makes its way in through the broken window.
Even with aid, it’s not easy. He can call upon his strength now — it doesn’t just arrive when it will, but when he wills it — and he does so as he swings Longclaw. The sword cuts easily, but he wants to be sure the things die on it the first time, that they lose their tails when he cuts them. What he doesn’t want is for one to get to him while he’s occupied with the other.
The second one drops to the ground as he’s fighting the first, and begins to edge around the side, keeping its distance until it can move in where his guard is down. Quentin’s distractions work, in that both of the beasts seem unsettled, their golden eyes flicking here and there, their moves halting enough to cause them to make fatal mistakes.
And Jon — if his power were a little greater, if he could do things like Rey can, he could keep the one on the side distant from him by sending a table at it. But he can’t.
He kills the second and third monsters nonetheless. He even manages to avoid injury. Still, by the time the third is dead, the floor is slick with the butchery, a severed head and two severed tails, and Jon is winded.
He steps around the blood on the floor and knocks on the door to the kitchen.
“I think that was the last of them. Come out and see: this victory is yours as much as mine.”
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Two of these things... he can handle two. There is no aid other than the mirror-Quentins, but that also means there’s no one he has to look out for. These creatures might have been made for fighting, or they might only be looking for easy kills, easy meals. His experience so far is that they’re a little of both, but they are not White Walkers. Maybe not even Styr or Karl Tanner. He can take them, even without help.
It’s better that he has help.
He opens his eyes, gives Quentin a firm nod, and steps through the door just before the first of the two monsters drops into the street in front of the cafe and makes its way in through the broken window.
Even with aid, it’s not easy. He can call upon his strength now — it doesn’t just arrive when it will, but when he wills it — and he does so as he swings Longclaw. The sword cuts easily, but he wants to be sure the things die on it the first time, that they lose their tails when he cuts them. What he doesn’t want is for one to get to him while he’s occupied with the other.
The second one drops to the ground as he’s fighting the first, and begins to edge around the side, keeping its distance until it can move in where his guard is down. Quentin’s distractions work, in that both of the beasts seem unsettled, their golden eyes flicking here and there, their moves halting enough to cause them to make fatal mistakes.
And Jon — if his power were a little greater, if he could do things like Rey can, he could keep the one on the side distant from him by sending a table at it. But he can’t.
He kills the second and third monsters nonetheless. He even manages to avoid injury. Still, by the time the third is dead, the floor is slick with the butchery, a severed head and two severed tails, and Jon is winded.
He steps around the blood on the floor and knocks on the door to the kitchen.
“I think that was the last of them. Come out and see: this victory is yours as much as mine.”