Pilnmēness nogurdinātie - * * *

When he struck, I parried in quarte and riposted.
He was leaning far forward in the saddle, and the point of my blade entered his neck on the right side.
A great billow of blood, like crimson smoke, arose and swirled within the greenish light. Crazily, I wished Van Gogh were there to see it.

The horse continue past, and I leaped at the second rider from the rear.

He turned to parry the stroke, but the force of his speed through the water and the strength of my blow removed him from the saddle. I struck at him, hovering there above me, and he parried again, but this carried him beyond the rail. I heard him scream as the pressure of the waters came upon him. Then he was silent.

I turned my attention to Random, who was dueling with a second man on foot. By the time I reached them, he had slain the man and was laughing. The blood billowed above them, and I suddenly realized that I had known mad, sad, bad Vincent Van Gogh, and it was really too bad that he couldn't have painted this.