"SIMON!"
Yelling at the top of his voice, Lewis tried to warn his dwarven friend, yet by then, it was too late.
As Simon's eyes widened in fear, Lewis simulated many possible scenarios to help him:
Some were thoughts of him pushing down Simon, barely dodging the dart. Some were of him getting out his trusty ball peen hammer, and playing tennis, returning it back to its sender. Some were of him taking kong it in place of Simon.
He thought of many ways he could save Simon, yet he didn't do so.
It was too late...
He could only watch in abject horror as the dart got closer and closer to Simon. He saw the fear and desperation in his eyes, praying that it was all just a joke. He heard the Wabbit commander dancing in joy, confident in its victory.
He felt hopeless in this situation.
Just as he was about to give up, his hands glowed. Out of his control, he watched in awe as they, in lightspeed, restocked an arrow, and launched it dead-on against the dart.
In Simon's and the Wabbit's astounded eyes, the arrow and the dart collided midair. Destroying the dart, it continued its trajectory until it struck the Wabbit, piercing its head. Using the carried momentum, the arrow carried the Wabbit, nailing it to a tree.
Under the astonished eyes of the protagonists, the Wabbit lay twitching, dead. Just as Simon was about to go up and thank Lewis, he saw him collapsing, screaming in pain.
Unable to comprehend what was happening, Simon ran around like a headless chicken. When all hope seemed lost, a shadow loomed over them, descending from the skies.
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Captain Footpad was terribly pissed.
Those damn lower ranks should've been here by now! Don't they know how important this raid is!?
Tapping his right leg furiously, he stares into the distance, where a semi-trained Wabbit army is currently attacking a caravan. Not just any caravan though.
A caravan belonging to the Silvertree Consortium.
This haul's supposed to last us long enough so that we can lay low for the next couple of months. If they somehow mess it up, we'd be screwed...
He turned his head once more, as Wabbit after Wabbit was thrown asunder, some split in half, others partially vapourised. Despite having the number advantage, each loss still pricked his heart. Dammit, it wasn't supposed to go this way. If it wasn't for that flying fucker...
Footpad could only grind the millew stalk in anger, due to the fact that the enemy had one advantage over them.
Just cause they have an Aviatrix amongst them, they could hold on. Otherwise...
Just as he was patiently waiting for reinforcements, his ears pricked. Shit, shit shit!
"SCREECH, CREE, SNURFLE! GRUNT, GROOHD, NEEWWWP! (FALL BACK, ALL OF YOU! RETREAT FOR NOW, WE HAVE LOST OUR WARMACHINE!)
Hearing this command, every single Wabbit stopped. Unable to believe the news, they still didn't hesitate, retreating back in an orderly manner.
The Aviatrix was also confused. It wasn't until one of his men confirmed that a battle had occurred in the woodside front of them that he decided to scout the region and see what happened.