Sorsha and her company were five days into their journey when they were attacked. Harris had no idea who they were, only that they hit very hard and very fast. The wagon he was driving was overturned when the horses panicked and then died. Harris was thrown clear of the wagon, but found himself immediately fighting for his life. Then he had no thought for anything more. He watched with detached amazement as the sword of his opponent snaked past his defenses and grew suddenly shorter where it touched his armor, pushed there by the dead weight of that same opponent. He had paid the price for his thrust - paid it in full.
Harris's sword was pulled from his numb hand as the man slipped to the ground. Confused, Harris reached for the sword sprouting from his middle. His detached awareness, told him he was falling, but he was powerless to do anything about it. By the time he finally wrapped his hands around the strangely elusive hilt, he felt his knees strike the ground and then it rose up to strike him in the face. His final thought before darkness overcame him was that this sword would be even harder to get ahold of now, because now it was so much shorter.