Her hands shift, turn, and she commands herself to hold the spell that forms there - a light as blue as the heart of a glacier, a chill wind grasped in her palm, an orb of ice that could be turned to any purpose.
"Without knowing what the future holds, one must be prepared for what may come."
Her hand closes on itself, pulls back, and turns in a different direction with the other, and the new light shifts in hue, a little softer, a little warmer, before she lets it go out of her hands with a word.
"Pluo."
Careful, careful, and thus what falls over Artemy Burakh is not an inelegant splash, but weather without clouds. For a moment, two, he stands in a rain of pure water, as if he stepped out on the right sort of morning. It trickles over the tree leaves, the grass, his shoes, his hair. Real as any rain could be.
(She can fix him being damp now, fear not. That's also part of showing off.)
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Her hands shift, turn, and she commands herself to hold the spell that forms there - a light as blue as the heart of a glacier, a chill wind grasped in her palm, an orb of ice that could be turned to any purpose.
"Without knowing what the future holds, one must be prepared for what may come."
Her hand closes on itself, pulls back, and turns in a different direction with the other, and the new light shifts in hue, a little softer, a little warmer, before she lets it go out of her hands with a word.
"Pluo."
Careful, careful, and thus what falls over Artemy Burakh is not an inelegant splash, but weather without clouds. For a moment, two, he stands in a rain of pure water, as if he stepped out on the right sort of morning. It trickles over the tree leaves, the grass, his shoes, his hair. Real as any rain could be.
(She can fix him being damp now, fear not. That's also part of showing off.)