The magician staggers before the werewolf. He's out of stamina, out of mana. However, the night is still young.
The werewolf snarls, stalking, circling the magician. The wolf begins to pounce.
The magician is sure this is the end. He closes his eyes, expecting never to open them again.
But no pain comes. Instead, he hears the wolf whine. He hears a sword stabbing through flesh.
He opens his eyes to see his beloved wife standing over the dead wolf's body.
He should be ecstatic. Happy that he hadn't died. But instead, he's embarrassed that he couldn't take down the wolf, and his wife, who's barely a magician, could. He can never show his face again.