Dorrak's basalt war hammer crashed into the oak blocking chock with the deafening roar of a falling mountain, splintering the seasoned timber into a cloud of matchwood.
The shockwave blasted crushed basalt ballast forty feet into the air, but the massive steel loading bed barely trembled, resting solidly against the bedrock shelf where Loccy had grounded its balance.
Dorrak stood over the impact crater, his heavy shoulders heaving as he stared in furious bewilderment at the empty iron bumper where the white-haired girl was supposed to be crushed.
"Looking for me down there?" Loccy's cheerful voice echoed from his left side, right at the edge of his peripheral vision.
She had slid along the greasy flange of the southern rail, completely inside his wide swing radius, her two-handed war hammer already resting lightly across her small shoulder.
Dorrak roared in rage, attempting to pivot on his back heel to sweep the basalt hammer around in a vicious close-quarters backhand strike.
