Larry sipped his coffee as he studied Hutson's posture. "How do you feel?"
Hutson flexed his fingers, testing his strength. "Recovered, mostly."
Larry nodded approvingly. "You heal fast. That constitution of yours is a rare blessing."
Hutson chuckled. "Still, I owe much to the potions you prepared. Without them, I'd be bedridden for far longer."
Indeed, Larry had painstakingly formulated magical elixirs to accelerate his recovery—an effort that had proven invaluable.
The older sorcerer smirked. "You should also thank Bessie. She's been taking care of you all this time."
Hutson sighed, gazing toward the horizon. "I was never meant to stay, Larry. Even at your side, I won't linger long."
He was certain of it. His ascension as a sorcerer would demand ever-greater resources.
The higher one climbs, the more one must leave behind.
