To say that I was free of Fenrisúlfr's spirit may have been an overstatement.
Sure, my body had lost the swole werewolf look it had just a second ago, but it didn't mean the demon wolf was vanquished.
The glowing white tendrils of Fenrisúlfr's spirit flapped around us, trapping me and Liara in a kind of flimsy birdcage that followed us as we plunged closer and closer toward those sharp-looking treetops. Strangely, these glowing white tendrils kept us prisoner but made no move to reclaim me. Nor did they seek to steal Liara away from my embrace. Not by choice, but it seemed something held Fenrisúlfr's spirit at bay—and in my head, I had this extremely cheesy thought.
It was all down to love.
The old, semi-retired adventurers Divah and I hung out with whenever we visited New York had this strange claim about love that I can't believe I could recall with crystal-clear clarity despite our dire circumstances.
