A line seared across his vision. He felt warm, wet blood running down his face, and the smell of burning flesh permeated everything. He had been hurled a dozen paces from where he had stood. Smoke wafted from his ruined clothes. The Cavalier approached him and knelt. Argen could just make out the older man.
“Be still. This is never pleasant,” the Cavalier growled.
Argen tensed to the point of breaking as the energies flowed into him, reshaping his flesh, wiping away his injuries. He did not realize he was screaming, interrupted only for ragged breaths, until it was done.
No comments:
Post a Comment