Ressurection

Laandra’s chest heaved heavily. She still lay face down in the grass, while the sounds of the fight and the screams slowly died around herself.

She couldn’t move. The world was spinning around herself, like a madman’s carousel.

Awkward how she remembered now all sorts of little things forgotten over the years. A summer day on Azuremyst Isle. The splendor of sunset on Rahnajar Isle. The color of her first mage robe, a gift from Vaalatu…deep blue, matching the tone of her skin and hair...

The sound of footsteps told her that the enemy was returning.

For a moment Laandra thought of making her personal, desperate last stand.
She pushed her hands at the cold ground, trying to sit up, but her muscles gave up and she stumbled back, this time on her side.

She thought she could even hear the undead laugh…that cavernous sound irrupting from his torn chest. Now he was just going to strike again. What would it be this time? Corrupting her body with dark magics, burning her to a pile of ashes?

“ Anyway, not a pretty death” she said to herself.

She waited the blow for what seemed an eternity. The suffering that followed.

Yet it did not came.

Her vision dimmed, Laandra could barely make out the face of the man keeling beside her. Eireannan’s hands shook with panic as he rose her in a deep, desperate embrace.
Her hair smelled like cinnamon and fresh torn grass.

He felt her slender body for the grievous wounds he was afraid he’d find, but apparently there were none others than the gash that ran across her chest, where the shadow bolt had hit in the first place.

“ How dared he?” Laandra muttered to herself, yet fury seemed to melt away in his powerful grip… She felt weak, cold while Erieannan was strong and life was thundering in his veins…Laandra pressed her cheek against his chest and listened to his heartbeats, as he lifted her with almost impossible ease and carried her away…