“Just thine object and invocation? Such simplicity belies thine power.” Rothe questioned. He gently set down the flickering candle, untrusting of a claim to eternity, even from a sacred artefact as this one.
“I, Rothe the Haig, do beg of thee,
Whose light did guide thy lover,
safe away from all danger,
and carried into thine arms.
Bring mine quarry to me,
as thou once did.”
He spoke these words slowly, holding the flickering candle between his wrinkled fingers. A flick, a flash, a young maiden appeared in front of him.