She took a step forward. He had to force himself to stand his ground. A rustle of cloth as her stomach settled against the vicious weapon of Elvish design. Five minutes ago, it had been the most dreaded weapon in the world. Now it may as well have been a child's toy. She knew it as well as he did. They were both there, with their hoods and their snarling lips, but she meant it. They both knew she meant it. He could have ended their entire discussion with one solid shot. The same shot that he could not, under any circumstances, make himself take. Skandra wondered if she had the same trouble. It was clear by now that he was going to do precisely nothing. It was also clear that she could have ended this any time she liked.
She was waiting.
He wasn't going to make it easy for her.
"Why?" was what he said.
"Do you still think you were chosen to save these people?" she asked, so quiet that it nearly escaped him. "You were meant to hasten their end."
That was when it struck him. A force in the shoulder, as hard as anything could have. Skandra saw quite clearly what had happened. In one of her fists she'd clutched a wooden stake, and that stake was forced into his shoulder with as much strength as she could muster. Skandra jerked backward violently. It was difficult to imagine a more horrendous pain than the one he currently endured. It was impossible to think that he had somehow, in some way, done this to some other living creature. His hands were frozen. His face felt stretched thin and locked in place. Even his eyes were unable to blink. He struck the ground boneless, and this was how he stayed, motionless and bleeding as she seemed to tower over him.
"It is not done," she shouted over him. "It is not done!"
He could hear her footsteps, as she ran, but in the main he simply followed the progress of the blood which flowed down his arm and over his chest. Enough of it escaped, and he would find himself in a new world.
Or oblivion.
Just perfect, the same as he'd always imagined it.