Unable to wait for Dorluf to die on his own - he's too deadly, even dying - you clinch in and drive Witherbrand into his heart. The huge man's strength is a match for your own even in this wild ursine form, but this is too much; and with a gurgling, hateful wheeze, he perishes in your arms, like his comrades around you. Your wolf, as is his habit, latches onto Dorluf's neck when he hits the ground, and gives it a good chomp-and-shake.

"Gods' blood... They just don't care to die, do they?" Marlene pants from her own exertions, now that the battle is over and she is free to hunker forward and catch her breath.