Deliberately circling around as the wolves chased him, Rhyf heard the sounds die off, and finally came to a rest. He had gotten a bit winded from the run, but bolted down the slope to where the group had returned to after giving up the chase. As he hurdled down the easy slope, though, he felt a change occurring.
His legs began to feel weaker, his jaw ached as his tusks started to recede... tumbling down in a heap, Rhyf crashed into a large tree trunk, his body shifting back to his normal self. The wild hair shortened and calmed, but remained free of their previous braids.
Standing up, he checked his clothing - no shirt, ruined pants, no shoes - and looked around for a weapon. Seeing nothing, he shrugged, and jogged the rest of the way down. Arriving at the fight just in time to see a Khajiit go rolling down the hill, and a ball of lightning jump between the five wolves, Rhyf didn't hesitate. He sprinted headlong at the smoking daedra, and jumped directly at them. His foot connected with one's jaw, and he wrapped his burly arms around the surprised creature's head. With a swift, powerful tug, he snapped its neck backwards, and let the limp body fall forwards.
Seeing them for the first time with human eyes, he saw how small they really were. Not werewolves at all, simply wolf-like dremora. They packed a punch, though.
As two of the remaining four turned towards him, Rhyf dove forward and grabbed at a fallen arrow, holding the flimsy thing like a dagger, and came to rest in a defensive position, ready to stab at them as they prowled closer.
