'Overdependence on magic. It's a problem.'
Zephyr watched in silence as Elenor worked, his mind drifting to the inherent flaws of their reliance on magic. It was really a problem.
'People forget the fundamentals when they have miracles at their fingertips.' He sighed.
Then he watched the cloth move with practiced efficiency over the raw edges of the wound. She worked methodically, spreading a fine white powder over the laceration before binding it in clean linen. It was a standard procedure, executed with a grace that suggested she had done this many times before.
But then Zephyr's gaze drifted lower, to the man's knee.
It was a grisly sight.
The bones had been forced entirely out of their socket, the lower leg twisted at an angle that made Zephyr's own skin crawl.
