Rowan was doing a better job of keeping his assailants at bay as he was surrounded. Scythe swinging around him in a blur, the back end colliding with arms, legs, and heads as his dandelions orbited him like three miniature suns, warning him of danger behind him or smacking away an attacker that Rowan failed to beat back. One of the orbs would dissipate though, a hunting knife going through it as it screamed, Rowan stumbling a bit at the pain before resuming his frenzied defense.