Slavering at the mouth and panting, Hogspit cleaved down, holding the cutlass with both paws. The blade tanged off a rock, sending a shock through him. He spat at his enemy, snarling, “I’ll carve yer guts inter frogmeat an’ dance on ’em!”
Log-a-Log wiped the weasel’s spit from his headband, eyes flat with menace. “Nobeast ever spat on me an’ lived. I could’ve slain ye a dozen times. Here! There! Left! Right! Up ’n’ down!” Whirling about he pricked Hogspit each time he spoke, showing him the truth of the statement. Halting, the shrew curled his lip scornfully at the Rapscour and turned his back on him, saying, “Gerrout o’ my sight, vermin, you’ve done yoreself no honor here today!”
Swinging the cutlass high, Hogspit charged at the shrew’s unprotected back. At the last possible second Log-a-Log turned and ran him through, gritting up into the coward’s shocked face, “No skill, no sense, and no honor, now y’ve got no life!”