Groso lowered his spear and braced the butt of it to the ground. A split second later the line of warg riders fell upon them, and the weight of the great beasts pushed the hobbits back. The goblins riding the wargs were clad in scant armor, and had only small swords in order to keep a light burden. They slashed right and left, but their attacks were useless as the hobbits were too low to the ground.

Groso saw a great ugly warg with splotchy brown fur pounce in his direction. He raised the tip of his spear, and felt the warg come down on the point, and he saw the tip pierce the beast's breast. Its weight was great though, and it snapped the shaft; Groso dove out of the way before it came crashing down on the spot he previously stood.

The goblin rose from the ground from where he was tossed, and drew held his short sword in the air. Like lightning he shuffled to where the young hobbit lay senseless and he set his sword to his throat. He pushed on the blade and then with a gurgle in his throat, he stiffened and fell on top of the hobbit.

The rank smell emanating from the corpse was enough to rouse the hobbit; he pushed the body off of him, and Hungolin was there with a bow in one hand, and the freehand he offered to the hobbit. The hobbit took his hand and was pulled to his feet.

"Take this!" Hungolin said, offering the hobbit a dagger from his belt.

Groso took the short blade, and Hungolin strung an arrow and let it fly. It hit a rampant warg in the eye, and it dropped. He retreated back to where he could arch without interruption.

By now there were only around a dozen of the original guessed number of seventy five wargs left alive, and the riders belonging to the dead were scampering around and poking at whatever moved.

Groso saw a goblin bend over a hobbit and slash down. Tears in his eyes, he charged the goblin and tackled it do the ground. The goblin flipped over and pinned Groso under it. The goblin wrapped his hands around the hobbit's throat and began to squeeze the life out of him.

The dagger that Hungolin had given him was still held loosely in his grasp. Mustering all of his strength, Groso brought the dagger up and cut the goblin's throat. Black blood spilled out and onto Groso's front, causing him to gag.

As Groso stood and recovered from his ordeal, he saw the goblins fall back a short ways and begin to regroup and establish order. There were few of the evil creatures left, but they were sure they could take the hobbits.

Núrild stood behind in front of him, and he seemed to be doing the same as the goblins and trying to rally the hobbits, who had suffered badly from the initial attack. There was blood running down his face from a large gash above his eye, but he took no notice of it.

Hungolin was looking no worse for the wear and seemed to be untouched by the battle. His quiver was empty and his bow discarded long ago; he moved among the confusion of the sudden retreat like a ghost, picking off stragglers and finishing off the wounded. He was moving with such speed that his brown cloak billowed behind him, though the wind was still.

A strong hand grasped the back of Groso's shirt and pulled him easily back for several yards before releasing him. He found himself in the frontline of the regrouped hobbit force.

A fire had been awoken inside the hobbits around him. Their eyes were dark, and their faces steeled. They were battered and beaten, but they would not give up. They were every one of them ready to die for their homes. The stout woman on his left was sporting a gashed arm, but she paid it no mind; the adrenaline running through all of them left them numb and ready for action.

Only a small number of the hobbits still held a spear, but many of them had instead picked up goblin blades after the last of the wargs was killed; Núrild removing its head with a broad sweep of his elven sword.

"Hobbits. Charge!"

The hobbits charged, and so did the goblins. They were both groups, in an uneven line; half of it being made up of fighters weary almost up to the point of passing out.

The hobbits could see nothing through the huge cloud of dust that the goblins were kicking up, so when the goblins shrieked and began to flee in all directions, they couldn't understand why.

Through the dust stepped Legolas, and beside him, Dúnovain. A dark shadow formed behind them in the dust, and as it cleared the combined forces of the other two hobbit armies stood. Legolas' and Dúnovain's men looked far worse than Núrild's. They were all limping along at a slow pace and many were bleeding freely and were white as a winter snow.

There was a mighty cheer from all. Even the Elves joined in, for the hobbits had tasted battle and victory; despite the casualties, they had a morale boost, for they had driven back the goblin's first wave.

They immediately set about tending to the wounded, clearing the dead hobbits, and burning the goblin and warg corpses.

"This is nothing; a small victory," Legolas said to Núrild. "If you can even call this a victory; look at this Núrild, they can't do this."

"They will have a much harder time of it if you already give it up as a lost cause," Núrild said.

"Look at the losses. The hobbits suffered greatly."

"All armies suffer great losses, but they do not give up."

Legolas bowed his head to the elf and retreated to help the wounded.

"We will need more than a miracle if we are to succeed here," he mutters to himself.