Azriel POV
She stood there with her fists clenched. She could no longer bear the screams of the children and she felt her magic rising like a leaden ball within her. It rose from the very core of her, floating out in silver streaks tinged in black. Her magic felt tainted here in the Blight. It felt bitter as it flowed out of her, making pointed arrows and raining on the hounds, choosing each and every one of them with unerring consistency.
It happened in the blink of an eye. One moment the hounds were raining hell as they chased the terrified children and attacked them and on the other, they all lay dead on the ground. The children cowered in a corner. Azriel, felt no triumph, but a deep sickness within her. She felt nausea and retched in one corner. The magic had felt bitter and angry, unlike the last few times it had come. Earlier she had felt her magic, like a sharp, cold stream of water, but now it felt like a muddy puddle, she had just jumped into.
