[Ovelia's POV]
The clearing fell into uneasy silence as Ace's group disappeared into the trees.
Their footsteps faded by degrees—the crunch of leaves, the snap of twigs, the low murmur of Ray's voice giving some quiet command—until nothing remained but the hollow quiet of a battlefield at rest. The occasional groan from the bound bandits and witches punctuated the stillness like a heartbeat. The rustle of leaves in the night wind. The distant hoot of an owl, oblivious to the violence that had torn through its forest.
My fingers moved without thought, tracing the outline of the fairy through my dress pocket. His tiny form was a warm seed against my ribs, and beneath my fingertips, I felt the faint rise and fall of his breathing—steady now, no longer the desperate gasps of before. The prismatic shimmer of his wings had dimmed to a soft, pulsing glow, like a candle seen through frosted glass.
He's stable, I told myself. He's going to be okay.
