It was a nightmarish scene. Many were cut down across the slope of the sand dune, and even more fell trying to rescue wounded comrades. Squirrel archers and creatures still in the forest ran out to help. She saw Runia gather a group of his otters and try, rather hopelessly, to counter with slingstones and give some cover to the running goodbeasts. She saw her good friend, the squirrel Garvin, fall with a spear clear through his back. A group of hares tried to counter charge up the slope towards the horde. They were very brave, but none of them ever reached the horde in that hail of deadly projectiles. Screams and moans rang out in the night.
It was then, staring at the horrer unfolding on the slope, that Cinnan felt something snap in her .
Before she knew what she was doing , Cinnan found herself running out across the sand, moving straight towards the slope and the horde. As she ran, a rough plan began to form in her mind. It was foolish and very, very risky, but the horrible sight of the slope spurred her on.
As Cinnan ran, old memories seemed to flash before her eyes. She saw her old tutor, the hare Sabastian, in all his fierce courage and experience of war. She saw her old friend, the squirrel Fiara Leafgame, laughing at a joke she had cracked. She saw Tatia, her quiet, trustworthy otter partner, remembered the many mock missions they had taken together. And, clearest of all, a vision of her parents came before her. Her father, Salen Treeleap, who had warrior spirit but chose instead the way of peace, and her mother Fenua, from whom she had inherited her bright red tail.
There were arrows falling around her now. The horde loomed ahead on the dune summit, forbidding, dangerous. The wolf Stormhowl stumbled past Cinnan, carrying a wounded mouse and trying to hold off the projectiles with a wooden shield. Out of the corner of her eye, Cinnan thought she saw the hare Evin Skydance staring at her and shouting something, but she ignored it and forced herself to focus on the horde, on the polecat leader standing at their head.
A spear hit the ground before Cinnan, and she leapt aside without a break in her stride. She was close enough now, and she knew she was only going to get one chance at what she was going to do. The squirrel raced one more long stride forward, then leapt high into the air, an arrow notched to her bow, the bowstring taunt. The arrow left her paw just as the javelin, flying from the right, caught her side.