“Okay, the circle is drawn. Now bring your friend to it.” Shyan and Abia share a look while Fassn walks into the circle.
Ulxurix grabs him by his burlap poncho with remarkable strength. He feels the magic particles popping in the circle, wants to feel them burst upon his skin. “Come on, let me, witch,” he says.
“No,” she replies. “This circle is for your little friend.”
“But he’s sick from that fang,” Shyan says.
“Aye, sicker by the day,” says the witch. She holds Shyan’s gaze. “The lich will eat him up, minute by minute. Your little friend is still in there, I daresay, but it’ll be hard to get him out.”
“Get him out?”
“Your tall friend, here, she’s strong. It should’ve been her. Her, we could have dealt with.” Ulxurix looks at Abia and sighs. “Well, we almost got there,” she says, trailing off. A moment later, she claps, the sorrow drained from her expression. “Well, time to go,” and she ushers them out the door.