For an instant that felt eternity, nothing happened. Then, in the corner of his eye, he saw movement and he recoiled instinctively as desperation clawed at his heart. In the dusky light, he saw the lithe figure of Yasmela advancing toward him, a sword in her hand.
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She had passed away and was lying upon the rocky ground. A thin trickle of blood was streaming from her lips. He held her in a final embrace, nearly denying she was no more. Jolts ran through his shoulders. He moaned and his sobbing voice rose so that it joined the complaining gusts of the wind. Teardrops shed along his cheeks and he realized he was crying.