A moment of silence ensued as the threat of the Voxanian troops passed. Studying the havoc their visit had wrought, I mentally made a list of what had to be done. My arm began to twinge with pain; the burn that Elowyn had helplessly harmed me with needed treatment. However, my burns could wait, and the hurtling night would not. I looked to the remains of the willow domes I had lovingly prepared earlier. In a sudden snap of both pain and despair, I turned to Elowyn and shouted,
“Can’t you keep Sunelya under control?” Elowyn glared at me.
“She’s not a dog; I cannot keep her on the end of a leash.” Her glare suddenly became friendlier, and she smiled. “But she’s very helpful in confrontations with Voxanians, isn’t she?” I nodded in agreement. The others dispersed to continue what they had been doing before all the commotion; Faeth summoned a whirlwind to hang the scattered garments back on the oak branch, Elowyn restored the fire and Meredyth’s eyes were soon that eerie white once more. I looked to the willow tree and touched the charred bark with my fingertips. The tree’s orlis, although faint, still lingered.
“Kyrev,” I whispered, and sank to the floor. As I did so, my rose-leaf bag opened and the content began to peek out. As I placed everything back inside, I felt my contraband spell book, with its texture like autumn leaves. I withdrew it from the bag and began to thumb through it. As I scanned over the pages, something caught my eye. "Of course," I thought aloud, "the mishva spell." My hand reached my belt. I withdrew my short dagger from its holster, before taking a small glass bottle from my bag, and removing the stopper. Taking a deep breath, I ran the dagger across my palm, gritting my teeth as the scarlet drops appeared. I allowed a few drops to collect in the bottom of the bottle, before taking a piece of the willow bark and crumbling the charred pieces in my hand. I sprinkled the wood shavings into the bottle, closed it with the stopper. Standing by the tree, I whispered, "mishva," before pouring the liquid onto the half-cremated remains of the tree. I stood back as the tree's orlis grew stronger again, and the willow domes I had lovingly prepared appeared before me. Looking again to the spell book, a short note in black ink proclaimed;
This spell can only be performed once every lunar month, by those of competent skill.
The month was drawing to close, my abilities would soon be refreshed.
Later that evening, my wounds treated and meals prepared, we gathered around the fire and began to eat the nettle soup I had prepared. Elowyn recoiled a little as I placed it in her hands. "Eat up," I encouraged her, "it's good for you." Having taken the first sip, she shrugged and continued eating. There was a moment of silence as everyone ate, during which I looked up into the moonlight Skye.