“Will you heal Elspeth, please.”

He knew he begged, but felt he had no choice.

“No, Ian, I will not, but behold the beauty and fight of life.” The God of light swept his arm in front of him and disappeared. He was once again in his body. The stake was gone and he jumped up to fight Athdar and Drakkor. They too were gone.

He ran to Elspeth and grabbed her hand. Everyone was released from their frozen states and Eoghan was there.

His brothers were hugging and talking, but he could only see Elspeth. He pulled the knife from her chest. “Wake up dearling, please.” She didn’t move. He watched in slow motion as the blood seeped from her chest and drop by drop slid slowly down her side and off the table to hit the floor, each drop a splash he could swear resounded through his body. The whole slow-motion scene surreal. The ripples from each drop flowing through him, killing him as surely as someone slowly pushing a knife in his heart and twisting. He watched her life blood leaving.

Then in a sudden moment of clarity he pressed his hand to her wound to try and stop the bleeding. He fell to his knees and lay his head to her chest and listened to her heart beat slow.

In his anguish, he raised his head and gave a grief ridden howl that bellowed from deep in his soul, echoed loudly through the cave walls, shaking all around. All his brothers stopped and gathered around concern etching their worried faces.

Silence hung in the air as he buried his face in her neck and sobbed. She lay dying, still, silent, and pale.