"Water?" she asked.
He nodded. "Ashwing's half inside it."
"Of course he is."
He knelt near her. The ground was packed, frost-thin. He pressed a hand to it, then pulled his palm away and focused.
He didn't need flint. Didn't need friction.
He just needed heat.
Mana bloomed through his fingers, controlled, focused. He let it slip into the earth, just enough to evaporate the surface moisture. The frost hissed away from the dirt.
He raised his hand again.
This time, a thin line of flame snapped across his palm.
He touched it to the dry twigs Lira had gathered from the edge of the clearing.
The fire caught immediately.
Not large.
Not wild.
Just enough.
Lira leaned back as it flared, arms crossed. "Trying to show-off?"
"Efficient."
She didn't argue.
Lindarion sat across from her, legs stretched, gloves off. The heat soaked into his fingers fast, bringing the sting of blood returning.
Ashwing hadn't moved.
