NB: Drabble

NB: Drabble! Woo! I don't own the characters…

STOPPING DEATH ITSELF

Death was everywhere. It stalked the corridors, it hung in the air like a foul miasma, swallowing up the young and old alike, bland, uncaring, vicious.

Maerad stood amongst the rabble in the Healing Houses and watched Death do its work. Every minute, someone would let out a cry, or a gasp, and then would fall still, and a healer would rush silently down the rows and draw a white satin sheet over their face, and everyone would continue with their work, ignoring the white bundle now lying so still on the bed.

This was the work of the Dark, Maerad thought furiously. This was what they did. They allowed Death to roam free, they let it out of its cage to prey on whoever – on whatever – it wanted. And the powers of Light were helpless against its relentless onslaught.

Except her. She was the One, and she was going to halt both Death and the Dark in their tracks. She was.

A hand – warm, light, comforting – fell on her shoulder and reminded her of summertime and sunbeams.

"Are you all right?" asked an equally tender voice.

Maerad turned on her heel and blindly buried her tear-stained face into Cadvan's shoulder.

"I will stop this," she promised, her voice muffled in his shirt. "I will stop this."