The veil came down with a crack, a loud rolling thunder. He smiled to himself, a thousand years suddenly lifting from his shoulders as the tingling of magic settled on his skin.
He turned back, ready to embrace what he thought he once lost; she had been standing in the same meadow, watching him as he dismantled the enormous spell, praying for him to make it.
And he did. He made it out whole and alive; he looked to the sky and laughed, a bubbling giggle setting the tone for his future.
Now they could live an eternity together, although he still considered it too short.
What he did not expect was that the crack and the rolling thunder had sent a piece of debree right through her shoulder, but it was wrong; it faced tilted down and had pierced her heart.
They were supposed to be immortals, the wolf and his halla, but bloodloss and one non-beating heart was something only magic could cure.
Magic he couldn’t muster no matter how hard he tried, only small sparks of veilfire caressed his now dying love.
No, he had whispered. It was not suppose to happen this way.
She caressed his cheek and said that her love for him would still be immortal and with her dying breath she mustered a “ma serrannas.”.
He had howled loud enough to wilt all the flowers in the meadow, and split the sky in two with the broken shouts of his regret.
They say the wolf was never seen again.
“But he did manage to save her?”
“No, da'len, he did not. But he saved part of her, and he was thankful for that.”
“It is a sad story, papae. I don’t like it.”
“Neither did he. But he made the best of it.”