Garth felt at home in the wall. Sure, he'd pissed himself when a blade passed so close over his head that he felt it graze his helmet and he knew very well that any minute could be his last, but he had such a strong sense of belonging that made it seem like he had lived someone else's life up until now. He enjoyed all of it: from the blood, sweat and rain that ran from his face into his armor to the weight pushing against his shield, the tired arms and the innards of the gutted man by his feet.
His swordsbrother on his shield-hand side commended him on fighting so furiously while being half the size of most men in their gang, and Garth made the promise of a good ale should they both live through this day. The Bear's troupe fought them in equal strength despite the spirit-breaking events before the actual fight, leaving the young man to wonder how it would be if they were as fired up as the Wolf's own forces.
Hours passed as the fight went on and Craig, Garth as well as the comrade to their left were starting to feel the strain of exhaustion while fighting constant batches of fresh enemies. Their wall was bending inward, and soon would break. Garth managed to barely avoid getting hit by a one-handed axe when he raised his shield to deflect it, instead getting it stuck in his shield just a few inches over his arm. The axe-wielder panicked and attempted to pull the axe loose instead of taking up another weapon, to which Garth thrust his shield into the man's chest, causing him to tumble backwards.
He then pulled the spear that Craig put between them from the soil, and drove it into the man's groin, then handing it back to the original owner behind the pack leader. With a tired arm he managed to let his mace drop on one more victim before he swiftly pulled back out of the wall, letting the person in the row behind him take his place, who immediately drove his spear through his first foe's skull. Garth dropped his mace next to his successor and took a few deep breaths.