she tried, it was forced back to the
ground with a pained grimace, and he thought he heard a groan escape
her lips.

When Magus caught sight of
their enemies, the boiling anger inside of him spilled over. He knew
the two of them all too well; Sonja's two subordinates, who took
sadistic pleasure in boxing his ears and singing his skin with their
flames. They wielded the two artistically-carved staves that they so
often brought down over his head whenever they felt like it—such a
horrible waste of such beautiful staves that the students at the
mages' convent would've killed to have! Magus released his anger in
the form of a thunderclap, and then another. The ring of sky around
him darkened to reflect what was inside. Another clap, and the brutes
turned their heads to look at him. Withone shout and two quick
flashes of light, they crumpled to the ground.

Upon
landing, Magus ran to Lovisa's side and took her head in his hands. I
can heal her, he
told himself, I
know I can. But
the method of it evaded him. He had spent so long being used to
attack and destroy, with restoration channeled into rings and stones
that he no longer had.

“Magus...” In spite of
her pain, there was a smile in Lovisa's eyes. He patted her gently.
“I'll take care of you,” he told her. “You took care of me.”
Now she smiled for real. His magic was impulsive, fueled by whatever
was inside of him. So why didn't his painful desire to heal his
friend amount to anything at all? But oh, perhaps it did, for the
girl was finding it much easier to keep