Zephyra watched the entire process, her milky eyes tracking his movements through essence ripples, her lips twitching with suppressed amusement.
But as the distant roar of snapping branches and guttural howls drew closer, her expression straightened. Her staff rose half an inch off the ground, a pale green gale coiling around the wooden shaft.
"I can cast a few spells," Zephyra offered, her tone laced with genuine caution. "Channeling a widespread wind-siphon will slow them down. Are you certain you do not need my assistance? There are dozens of them, Sol. Even small claws can bleed a man if they swarm from all sides."
Sol turned his head, casting a sideways glance over his bare shoulder. His neon-crimson eyes flared in the moonlight, blazing with the pure, arrogant certainty of an apex predator looking down on vermin.
