Another summer, as bad if not worse than the last. His magic helps him heal, but part of him wonders if one day, it will be so exhausted it won’t work. Maybe one of these days, the beatings, the near-starvation, will kill him. He tries to push away the alure of it. Part of him is tired, part of him is angry, so angry, and another part is hopeful. He tries to tell himself that the hopeful part is the largest. It might be a lie, but he’ll never admit that to himself.