Ishit flattened himself on the ground, not daring to move, or breathe, just like the inanimate rocks around him.
Millian was standing just a few feet away from him. Ishit could feel his powerful spirit sense sweeping over his shield. There was no way he was an apprentice. He should be a master, or maybe even beyond that. Ishit felt lucky that the man hadn't tried to kill him in a single attack, or else he would be in Nysa, the city of death fairies.
His assaulter wanted to capture him alive.
Ishit's chest wound was on fire. The arrow must have been soaked in poison or been cursed.
Ishit could feel his body going hot as if some invisible fire heating it up like a cauldron.
What should he do now? He couldn't stay here and wait for Millian to leave. His wound wanted his attention, or the poison would paralyze him soon.
