Life.
The winter landscape that we have lived in for so long gives way to scattered pockets of greenery. Life returns to the hillside, and not just in what I see - my heart is full of it. Whether it is the view of foxes chasing rabbits, the lush smattering of colour on mountain flowers, or Lydia bounding down after me, I cannot say. Either way, it is a beautiful day, and I'm glad to be enjoying it with her.
On our travel across the range, we have encountered many types of life. From the low-life bandits, wildlife of wolves and bears, to the undead life of the draugr, we think we have seen it all. But the wispmother is a surprise to us both.
A green clearing forms in front of us, with trees in view. Yet it is not the green which has drawn my eye, but the odd transparent blue floating woman burning into my retina from the other side of the clearing. Ice magic is soon thrown at us, and I immediately swallow a couple of potions to help resist this cold magic.
Lydia has her sword and shield raised, and runs towards the shimmering blues. A strange row of ice forms on the ground between me and the wispmother, the creature Lydia has sought to kill, and out of the ice leap three ice wraiths. Their only mission is to sink teeth into my soft imperial body, to protect their matriarch.
I resort to fire magic to deal as much damage to the living ice as possible, while thrashing away like a madman with my sword - all pretense of swordsmanship vanishes in that blur of metal. One by one I am smiting the things, all the while downing further potions to maintain my health and stamina.
It is a hard fight. I can see Lydia smashing away at the wispmother. She is the goddess of death. I can image a grin of hatred and satisfaction and admiration and longing and happiness displayed on her face, hidden behind that dwarven bronze helmet, yet in clear evidence in her action. It is the fight of her life, the fight that any young Housecarl would fantasise about while stuck in Whiterun.
I join Lydia in the fight, again hoping that my fire will reduce this thing to something approximating death. We are having an affect - it rapidly retreats from us, and we are eager to give chase. All the while it continues to spew frost magic at us, and all the while I hit it again and again and again.
The wispmother's life soon leaves it, and I am left standing over the odd corpse of this most strange of mountain denizens. "Yes, yes!" I cry. "We've done it!!" I turn to face Lydia. But I cannot see her. Not right away.
Close by she lays, face down. In the dirt. She does not move, does not make a sound, does not share in my fading celebration.
Life. Life is fleeting. And life is cheep in Skyrim.
I move over to her, afraid to touch her. She is so peaceful, so at peace with this world that has sort to damage her on so any occasions. The adrenalin of battle has been replaced by a feeling of absolute and crushing shock. I stand for minutes staring at her corpse, unable to move or even contemplate moving. Events past this moment wither out of existence.
After what seem like hours pass, I move closer, and turn her so that she can at least face the sun. I don't have the words to say to her, the feelings I have or had for her stick in my throat. I know what I must do, and it tears me apart to do it.
I take that of use from her - the dwarven helmet, the shield, and some gold and arrows. But I leave her on that mountain with her armour and her sword. I leave her as she would want to be remembered. A warrior. And a beautiful woman.
I leave.
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