He watched her carefully as she poured the ash of burnt yew wood into cautious lines that formed the runes. Once they connected in a circle, she said a murmur of latin and stepped within it. Already inside were two roses; one white and one red―the red for the passion he held and the white for purity the other donned unknowingly―a tan string, a candle, and a sacer of water. Incense and oil burned. The trees rustled. The moon shone.
She motioned him in as she sat in front of the materials. Warily, he stepped over the runes and sat across from her.
"Meminerunt omnia amantes," she said, "Love remembers all. And with these words, love will remember."
She held out her hand, and he placed his in hers. She picked up the red rose and put it in his right hand. Then, holding out the other hand, she put the white in his left. The thorns dug bluntly into his palm drawing not a drop of blood.
She moved the fire to his right and the water to his left. She surrounded both with soil.
"With fire, surrounded by earth and wind―which destroy it―and water, surrounded by earth and wind―which make it stronger―let these flowers of love remember one another. Let the fire be fueled by the earth and wind. Let the water be calmed by the earth and wind. Let this flower―," here she took up the string and wrapped one side of it to the red rose, "―of passion and desire, call to the Remembered. And let this flower―," here she wrapped the other end around the white rose, "―of purity and innocence, hear the call from the Forgotten."
At this, she tied the ends of the string together, lifted a bottle of oil and poured it over the clasped together roses.
Speaking only to him now she said, " Meminerunt omnia amantes."
He nodded, understanding that this was to be repeated to the 'White Rose'―the 'Remembered.'
She put her hands over the petals of the roses and all-at-once blood flowed from his palms. When she removed her hands, the roses had disappeared and all that was left was a small puddle of blood and clear oil.
"Consummatum est," she said. 'It is completed.'
The runes were wiped away by a sudden gust of wind and the candle went out. He gave a sigh of accomplishment and began to get up. She grabbed his forearms and helped him. As she collected her materials, he went to the first aid kit she brought.
"Thank you, Twyla," he said as he wrapped a bandage around his cut hand. He knew it would heal in a few hours, but he didn't want to get blood everywhere.
"No problem, Heath. I'm happy to help with your problem. The spell won't take effect for a few days―give it a week maybe―and then you can approach him."
Twyla had golden blonde hair and bright, lapis lazuli eyes that glinted with mischief when she smiled.
Heath nodded, then smirked.
"Okay. I have to get back to the clan. We're going hunting tonight."
He grabbed his gloves, blinked and put them in his black leather pants. Then he flung his black leather jacket over his shoulders; stuffing his arms through the sleeves, before making his way through the trees.
"See ya later, Twyla."
"Drive safely, Heath."
He flung his hand up in farewell. A little ways away from the glade, a beautiful black Kawasaki motorcycle was stationary. Heath smiled happily as he slid onto the bike's seat, gripped the handles and pushed the kickstand back to it spot. He loved his bike. He started up the engine and adjusted the front wheel to make his way safetly through the forestry.