A Half-Blood Creature

Even before the spear hit its mark, Akaros’ face twisted in cruel triumph. Beyond Akaros, Michael’s face burst into an expression of stunned sorrow, screaming his pain and loss even while his voice was utterly quiet.

I rushed to him, and he crumpled to his knees, the spear buried deep in his chest. With Herculean effort he struggled to pull the lance from his body.

He said nothing.

And I had no words.

Only our eyes, locked on each other, refusing to look at anything else, spoke where our voices could not.

The spear slipped beneath my grasp, slick with the blood of my beloved. My tears fell with the rain, drenching Michael, but the flood of emotion continued to rise until my whole body hummed with the pressure. With a final heave, the spear was free and Michael slumped forward, his hands clutched to the hole in his chest. Rain-water streamed from his hair, his face, and obscured the tears falling from his eyes.