The forest itself was too far away for her to draw on, but there were still small stands of trees in hollows between the hills where streams flowed into shallow ponds that had frozen over in the bitter cold of Hauke's snowstorm. Those trees were young, many of them less than a dozen years old, but they were enough for Heila to do something with, even if it wasn't as much as she wished.
"Through nature's heart and healer's grace,
Let soothing waters find their place,
Let healing waters wash away
The wounds of war's savagery,
Till every soldier is free from pain,
Beneath this sweet and gentle rain."
To Diarmuid's ears, and even to the acolytes standing with him, the demon witch's words sounded as sweet and reverent as any prayer and the power those words conjured was as gentle and mild as the morning sun's light on their faces.
