Hearing Ludwig, and seeing his expression the Queen roared out as she tried to slam herself against the walls to get him off.
"Stop wriggling, you oversized maggot!" he barked, pressing his torso against her slick hide, not from desperation but to reduce surface area. With his free hand, he called forth Durandal, its weight familiar, welcome. He flicked it, which twisted it once and shifted it into the one-handed scythe form. The blade hissed through air, then bit down into the Queen's flesh. He stabbed it in deep, forcing a screech from the Queen.
"Now you're going nowhere." His voice came in a growl, low and cutting.
He began to move. One stab at a time. Digging his weapon in, using the blade like a mountaineer's axe. His body dragged upward inch by inch, the tip of Durandal finding purchase again and again in the Queen's thick outer hide. And with each foot gained, her posture dipped further into disarray.
