The sword was halfway down when Derek reached his mother.
He saw the blade falling toward Malia and threw himself at the warrior holding it.
His fist struck the man’s side.
It was a small blow, one a child might have thrown in a desperate attempt to protect someone. Yet the warrior flew backward as if a horse had kicked him. He crashed into two of his companions and landed several paces away, his sword spinning through the mud.
Derek stared at his hand. He had barely touched the man.
“Mama?” he said.
I was still on the ground, staring at him. “Derek, get back!”
A Redfang warrior charged from the side. Derek turned before the man reached him. He caught the attacker’s arm, pulled him forward, and struck him across the chest. The man fell hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.
