A great expulsion of mana caught the sense of Mana-sensible bystanders. Those unknown to the idea felt a strange thud; a feeling many threw on accounts of heavy drinking or lack of sleep. Ishta ran across the street, his breath puffed at the chilly atmosphere – a smoke beacon of essence cut over the alleys.
"Skarla," he gasped, "-why, what?" the one in question had her expression thrust at the impasse. Four skid marks led to the unconscious Iyan and Syne. Their captive, Skarla, held their collar with a hint of anguish, "-Skarla," voiced one more, her locked vision shattered, "-Ishta," she blinked, "-you're here?"
