One stroke and the bow was gone, flung many yards away.
A second stroke shattered the arrow, leaving Faile holding only a sparking, splintered haft of once-magical wood.
A third forced her backwards to avoid being cut, making her stumble and fall to the ground, her wings forgotten in the rush of sheer panic.
"Please... please don't do this."
He looked down at her, his contempt and hatred burning through his mind like a dark fire, urging him to finish what he started. No turning back now. Two hands on the hilt of his hellishly enchanted blade, he raised Vyldravendis for the killing stroke.
As the shadow of the runeblade fell across her, the Lady of Air wept. "Please..."
His lips, barely visible in the shadows of his black iron helm, curled in a vicious scowl. "Begging for your life?"
Faile forced herself to look up into his merciless gaze. "No," she whispered, one hand reaching out to touch his chest. "I'm begging for yours."
There was silence.
And then he lowered his blade, turned away without a word, and walked away.
Faile's tears did not stop until long after the man in black armor had long since disappeared into the storm clouds of the night...