The sharp bit of driftwood, no matter how sharp, was no substitute for a proper sword but Bran still raised it against the rabble of attackers. A pity he couldn't at least strengthen the wood with magic.
Beside and a little ahead of him, Misha growled, his tail whipping back and forth and making the men closest to them hesitate.
There were six of them, all masked up and wearing heavy clothes that looked like they could take a beating. They also had guns, or at least, oddly colourful plastic replicas of guns. Bran guessed they were 3D printed ones and he regretted never looking into just how effective something like that could be, though he couldn't really blame himself that much. Magic just seemed like such a better option.
