Curufin laughs darkly as the goblin riders fail to outsmart the Fëanorians and die for that failure. They lie in two tangled heaps on the ground, goblin and wolf blood splashed everywhere.

"At least fifty. As soon as we're done with this wave of goblins, we might go and collect the group and get them started on the path, and then we'll see about going back for any others who are still hiding."

Curufin knows his father has generous impulses as well as selfish ones. He's the same. In this post-death life, Curufin focuses on acting on his better nature, and so his first thought is always of what he can do to help. It was almost funny, the way he had developed the habit of flinging himself into harm's way, not for himself but for the sake of others. Finrod would positively roll his eyes, if he were here.

The next set of goblin riders descends, three of them this time. Two of them dive at Fëanor and one at Curufin. Curufin whips out his two sharp knives and slashes the wolf's throat open, and then leaps at the goblin almost before that beastly little creature has time to fall off his dying mount. He slashes its head off and then turns to help his father.