Moonspear your love will always be rooted deeper than any grave, ii

The mountain queen had faltered, for loss and blood had coated both packs in a sea of despair. The line had been broken. None now remained to carry on the legacy, and the dark empress had lost the strength that the eagle had once recognized. He stayed only because the recovery might prove quick, for the she-creature had always been resilient.

The eagle flew overhead while she remained in thought, casting a vague shadow upon the snow-covered ground. The air was quiet, and still, in a way that he did not trust. Occasionally, he let loose a familiar call down to her, filling the silence around them with strength. The currents washed harshly over his flight feathers as he coasted, but there seemed nothing for them there on that fateful day.

Death is a funny thing.
Life is a funnier thing.
One moment you are here, and the next, a massive rock from space is blinding the earth in a terrible white light. I see a light.

The moment was instantaneous. The fireball smashed into the eagle, which incinerated into oblivion on contact. It found its mark then on the mountain, and the pair were welded together in a flash of horror and destruction.