I froze.

The other body moved its arm.

It was now too dark to fully make them out, but one did resemble Torin — he was hereagain, in my freaking yard. And now he had brought a friend.

I was so shocked I didn’t know what to do.

I was frozen, staring, as the other man slowly dragged a big sword close. He was dressed like Torin in that same kind of medieval costume. They both had on pale yellow, linen shirts, and both were wearing kilts with tartan print fabric that gathered over one of their shoulders. But in contrast Torin’s clothes made him look fancy and rich. He wore that blue cloak with the wolf fur trim fastened with that silver brooch, and with the green embroidered details on his cuffs and down the front of his shirt. His clothes were far more elaborate than the other man’s.

Was he Torin’s friend? Did they come to fight me, were they going to kill me?

But then Torin lumbered to his feet, dragging up his sword. He bellowed, “Drop yer sword!”

The other man stood with a groan. “Nae, ye drop yer sword.” They sounded murderous towards each other.

Torin staggered, holding his sword up. Both looked dangerous, but exhausted, dazed, and weak. Torin looked like he was in real pain.

The two men stumbled at each other swinging. Their swords clanged together, a clang so loud it hurt my eardrums. I shrieked.

They both turned as if noticing me for the first time.

The other man started stalking toward me, his sword swung back as if he planned to strike me down. I froze. I don’t know why, but I did.

But then Torin barreled toward him with his shoulder down, plowing into his side, knocking him stumbling off balance.

Torin recovered his feet and moved in front of me. “Stay behind me!”

I did, I got right behind him. I thought about trying to help — I could shoot the guy. The man had a sword on my land, Ihad the right to kill him, butthatwas easier said than done. Ultimately, I didn’t really know how to kill someone with this gun. Despite carrying it around as if it was my protection, I had never shot it before.

I backed up, as the two men swung their swords again and again, clang clang, carving at each other, trying to kill each other, and then Torin was caught off balance. He stumbled.

The guy he was fighting raised his sword to swing it down?—

Torin yelled over his shoulder, “Run!”

I turned and bolted toward the house.

Torin was going to die.

The man was going to kill him — oh my god, they were battling to the death on my lawn. I hit the porch at top speed, raced in the door, yanked the screen door around after me — clang! Clash! — and tried to get the latch in the eye hook. My hands shook too much, I could not get it to lock. And this was not enough protection.

I slammed and locked the front door and rushed to the window to see Torin shove the other man, then charge him, swinging his sword.

His opponent had been sliced, blood soaked his shirt. He stayed on his feet, but lost ground, backing away, stumbling, then finally, he turned and ran. Torin chased him, up the lawn, down the driveway and out to the main road. I pressed my face to the window, watching as Torin drew to a stop at the end of my gravel driveway. He doubled over, his sword fell to the ground, he clutched his arm as if he were in great pain, his knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground.

Carrying my gun, I unlatched the door and rushed back out. “Torin, are you okay?!”

His breaths were bullish. “Och nae, Mistress Lexi, tis verra sore.”

I crouched beside him. “Did you get cut? Are you bleeding?”

He was on his side on the gravel, a rock poking into his forehead, his words clipped between his short breaths. “Nae.. tis m’shoulder... only... twill pass.”

I looked down the road, I couldn’t see the other man. “Do you think the other man is injured?”

“Aye, gravely. I hae slain him, but it might take some time afore he falls.”

“Great. That sounds like trouble.”