“They’re not dying.” A woman moaned softly, cowering from the sight.
Ciaran took a deep breath and stretched his hands out again, ready to pour more fire onto the enemy soldiers. Brenna stayed him.
“The fourth gate,” she said. She knelt, drew in the dirt with her fingertips. Ciaran was horrified when she dropped her head to her wrist, jerked sharply, and blood began dripping down her hand. When she lifted her head to cast, Ciaran saw blood ringing her mouth, but then she was calling forth gods Ciaran had never imagined, and wind began to feed the flames higher.
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