She turned and threw the pitchfork toward the barn.
She darted for the pitchfork and he caught her mid-stride, lifting her off her feet.
Once inside the barn, she grabbed the pitchfork and a flashlight and then darted out the barn door, screaming at the top of her lungs.
She stepped back and held the pitchfork ready as he scrambled to his feet and headed for the door.
She stabbed the pitchfork into the dirt floor.
There must be something she could use in the barn - a pitchfork, anything.
Tug, scream, shine the flashlight, throw the pitchfork toward the barn.
Obviously a pitchfork wasn't sufficient.
The aurochs was a black animal, with a lighter dorsal streak, and horns directed upwards in the shape of a pitchfork, black at their tips, but otherwise whitish.
His landlord, who in a waistcoat and a pointed cap, pitchfork in hand, was clearing manure from the cowhouse, looked out, and his face immediately brightened on seeing Rostov.
She stumbled back and grabbed the pitchfork, jabbing it at him.
One carried a gun, one had a pitchfork, and the third had an ax.
She grabbed the pitchfork and poked it in his direction, screaming as she did so.