Rhistel's hand hovered over the saddle as his breath hitched. He didn't speak for a long moment, then finally nodded.
"Fine," he muttered. "Do it quickly."
He dismounted from the horse and sat on a boulder. The witch walked closer and stood in front of him.
The witch stepped closer, eyes scanning the blood that soaked through the fabric of his shirt, the long gashes and punctures still leaking. Her fingers trembled as she reached out and placed her palm gently on his side. The warmth of her magic stirred immediately. Golden glow emmated from her hands where she touched his wounds.
He didn't flinch, but his eyes never left her face.
The worst wounds began to close first. The gruesome wound on his stomach started to heal enough that bleeding stopped.
