(Mora's POV)
The girl was strengthening the shield again.
I could smell her blood before I even opened my eyes.
The silver power shone on her skin like smoke from a wildfire and cackled in waves that made the air tremble. My bones ached in response. My own magic, older and colder, wanted to rise and hold hers.
But I kept my hands on my knees.
"Aisla," I rasped. My throat was raw from too many nights of chanting.
"You're letting it slip again."
Her back was turned to me. She stood in the centre of the grove's hidden basement while the protective shield hummed above us like a ceiling made of storm. Her hair clung to her neck and her fingers were curled like claws as the glow spread through her veins.
"I'm not letting it slip." Her voice came sharply… too sharp. "I'm trying to hold it."
"Trying is not enough," I snapped.
Her shoulders stiffened and for a heartbeat, I saw the child inside of the power-weilding form in front of me.
