The idea had occurred to him too. Thingol smelled his companion's blood and knew him injured. That could not be left unattended! The next blows he dealt the pride demon were aimed at the creature's wrists - or, at least, the thinnest part of his arms. Remove the hands and they would have a helpless foe!

"Hold strong, mellon!" he grimaced in disdain as, first, one hand fell and then another. In the act of seeing such a task done, Thingol was knocked about and sustained some gouges on his shoulder and side.

Truly nothing an Elf of his pedigree couldn't endure! Yet, once he landed beside the Medicine Seller again, he was breathing a little harder, face paler.