Jarin was dying. The realization flowed into her mind and with it the fear, the terror; she quivered, palms mixing sweat with blood. She raised her eyes again to Gar’s. “Should I?” she mouthed, unable to force air passed her clenched throat.

Gar growled, a throaty rumble that shook the leaves around his feet.

The world swirled around Natalie; the trees blurred into one with the sky - a swirling eye of blue and green and beneath her hand the prostrate form of Jarin, her hand on his bloody chest the pivoting point, and she mouthed the words,

The words came, and with them, power.

And with the power, the swirling leaves curled and blackened, crumbling to ash as Natalie watched. Flames sprouted around her palm, roots writhed, and Jarin burst into flame.

Natalie screamed until her throat bled, and she coughed blood. She screamed silently long after her voice failed, long after she collapsed, long after darkness took her once again.