The Shaman

"Shh," she whispered, her dark hair flowing across her face as the warm breeze whirled around her.  The dark cloak that had weathered all time flow gently in the breeze shrouding her from the harsh rays of the sun as she knelt over her wounded husband.  His teal blood streaming through her delicate fingers while she cradled his head.  He glanced up at her, the twinkle in his eyes slowly fading, looking past her at the swirling clouds above.  


She stood, her cloak swaying in the wind, and mouthed a small prayer to the departed spirit of her love before removing her golden elken staff.  Her hands outstretched above her parting the cloak revealing the sacred colors of the ancient ones offset by a large golden medallion hanging from around her neck, she raised the staff high above her head shouting the words of the ancients to the unyielding sky above.


The wind picked up around her, violently moving her cloak of her shoulders forcing the sun's rays to dance upon the silken threads of her shaman's garb.  The clouds enclosed above immediately darkening the small meadow.  Her husband's slayer stood meters away watching the scene unfold, dreading his fate at erasing the shaman's love.


Her husband twitched slightly, his body beginning to glow an ethereal green.  The clouds darkened shouting bouts of thunder rolling across the hot mid-afternoon sky.  She forcefully stuck the staff into the ground releasing a rumbling blast of energy through the ground extending rapidly across the grassy meadow in an encircling stretch of power.  Her dark hair flowing gently around her shoulders, she turned to face her husband's killer.


He stood, meters away, holding the murder weapon proudly outstretched towards her, the gleaming blood tainted blade of his sword slightly twitching in the man's cold hand.  He stared at her, his eyes as cold as the steel that had pierced her husband's heart.


The glow subsided, and her husband's body departed with the glow dissolving into the essence of the meadow.  The clouds thickened choking out all efforts from the sun's rays to pierce through.  Ruffling sounds of grass, quick steps muffled on the ground, a low rumbling continuous thunder above, the meadow waited for the clouds to part.


She never moved.  Her husband's killer stood where he had before, his body drained of its life energies, a small scorched circle at his feet.  His sword impaled in the ground slowly swaying back and forth in the breeze.  The clouds lightened and parted allowing the orange and pink sunset to permeate the atmosphere.  She lifted her head and glanced at the patch of grass that had held up her husband before.  


The body of the mysterious killer slowly drifted away on the evening breeze, its charred ashes dancing in small tufts of wind around the flowing leaves of the elken trees.  She dropped to her knees and ran her fingers through the soft grass.  A single tear sloped down her face.


"Shh," she whispered.

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