Skandra didn't need to hear Gershul's cry of triumph to know what was happening. Aeotha was swinging a brass-capped staff of heavy wood with one hand. The effort left her both off-balance and exposed. Skandra took the longest, hardest stride that he could. Yet he could not stop the blade that thrust into Aeotha's stomach. He arrived only after the deed was done, a tangle of limbs crashing into Gershul as Aeotha collapsed to the dirt. There were thundering hoofbeats not far away - if she could hold on for that long, she might make it, even if she hurt for the remainder of this decade. Skandra's mind was on Gershul. They were grappling and growing closer to the flame. All the while, there were no words.
Gershul let go of Skandra's arm to drop a bone-jarring punch into Skandra's ribs. The younger Immortal retaliated by forcing his elbow into Gershul's eye socket. Once, twice, from the side. Each time the father screamed in pain. Gershul's knee rose. Skandra's knee did, as well, planting against Gershul's shin and pushing back. That first punched Skandra square in his teeth, and the younger Immortal's head was forced back. His eyes filled with tears. And blood. A sort of shrieking yell as his head whipped forward. Gershul tried to stiff-arm him, shove him away, but the force of the headbutt cut through that attempt. Gershul's own pained cry cut through the fire and the night as they staggered apart.
Skandra didn't have to worry about blinking away the tears.
The heat of the wildfire - now burning out of control, thanks to Aeotha - was evaporating them as soon as they could leak out.
"Get yourself clear!" someone shouted, in Elvish.
Gershul's first, knockout punch roared in front of Skandra's face. The younger Immortal stepped back. One hand seized Gershul's wrist. The other hand came up, palm slamming into the old man's elbow. A vicious pop told the story. Elbow, dislocated. Gershul's free arm came up then, jammed a knife into Skandra's shoulder. He'd been trying to stab Skandra between shoulder and neck. He missed low. Probably because his arm was in such agony. Skandra took a one-hop step backward, and kicked as hard as he could. His heel collided with Gershul's chin on its way up. The knife in his arm was grinding against bone and tissue. Gershul staggered backward, into the flame, disappearing into the space between smoke and fire.
He was a dead man.
"Gotta get clear," Skandra mumbled thickly to no one.