Aisla turned her head and her eyes burned with the glow that always unsettled me. It was too much power for a mind so fragile. Too much weight for shoulders that had never been taught to expect it.
"I'm trying," she whispered with a trembling voice.
"But it hurts."
"Good," I said. "Pain teaches you faster than ease. Do it again."
She clenched her fists and the shield above us shook slightly. I felt the spell strain against the boundaries I had layered onto it.
Spells within spells and words older than the stones beneath our feet.
The grove had always been hidden from ordinary wolves, but hiding Aisla inside it was a different task entirely. Her aura blazed too brightly.
To dim it, I bled myself into the chants every dawn.
My nose, my lips, even the corners of my eyes were held traces of blood every morning.
And she saw it.
That was the danger.
