The Healing Ward

Blood ran down her face from her burned scalp, staining singed cloak and grey dress alike. Smoldering, unrecognizable remains interspersed with shattered wood and stumps littered the scorched clearing. Anya wavered afoot, in better shape than Rosalyn. Smoke, ash and death surrounded them. Rosalyn momentarily cursed her abilities. She had a knack for wards, healing and negating that led her to the Path of Temperance. She knew how to kill, if not utterly destroy like Anya. Conducting painfully, she set to creating a healing ward. Anya would benefit from it as much as she once out of her dreamlike trance.