Grom pulled his ax out of the man’s skull, spraying bone chips and brains. He ignored the bits of man as he strode through the accumulated gore, searching for his next foe.
Seeing no one around, he let the great blade fall to the ground and took his rest upon the bloody leather of the handle. His breath came hard; he was unused to fighting in the southern heat and was unusually fatigued.
After a few minutes rest, he hoisted his ax to his shoulder and picked his way through the bodies in search of more worthy foes to slay.