It was like breathing for the first time. The dead roses hung limp from the edge of the vase, unable to hold themselves up straight. They had turned a charred brown, the color faded and rotten. Elai could still feel the way his fingertips had immediately grown hot as if with friction; the way the papery petals smoothed out their wrinkles and regained their warm pink hue. He had watched in awe as every rose blossomed once again, as if time had reversed and sped up. The only evidence left that proved the bouquet had once been dying was a few strewn petals still crumbling on the surface of the table where they had fallen. Elai's heart was racing, the palm of his hand red and raw. This was what it meant to be Ilnathin. He had power over life and death; just a touch was all it took and he could bring someone back from the brink of death. But did he have the strength to stand over a dying man and save his life? Could he really do something like that? Elai didn't have the confidence. How could they force him to take on responsibility for someone's life, knowing the blame would fall on him if something went wrong?
a little unused (for now?) excerpt detailing the experience of Elai, an Ilnathin healer of the Skin Arcane, and what it feels like to hold the power of life in your hands.
Love,
P.B.
