Despite his familiarity with Olivare’s power, Arshad’s muscles remained wound for flight, as elaborate, pulsing webs of gold energy flickered and died beneath her sweat-damp skin. She looked at him, eyes returning to emerald, and wiped a trickle of blood from her nose.
“It’s true,” she said, voice flat.
Arshad nodded. “Yes. Worse still, the Magus claims the dawn-web cannot be mended again.”
More blood trickled from Olivare’s nose and she swiped at it absently, leaving zebra-like stripes across her cheek and chin. It was dangerous to draw on the old magic, but damned lethal if the Bore remained open.
(Written for The Prediction. Challenge words: elaborate, mend, zebra)