Nobody did know much about therianthrope anatomy, medicine, healing. That study might’ve been legitimate, if ill-timed. Not that that mattered right this second; Tom, who had power to spare, traced a sigil of healing, of warding, of woven shields like musical notes, across a firebird hip without thinking. He wanted Nicholas to be well.
He did not mean to push quite so much power into the lines. Overexcited. Shaky with it.
Nicholas caught breath, blinked at him.
“Sorry!” He’d never needed ink or wands or rune-stones or recipes; after all, he’d been able to cast spells without focus-lenses since the age of twelve. The best and the brightest; and he sometimes forgot that not everyone could, and startled people. That wasn’t the part that worried him now. “Was that okay? I didn’t mean to—not
