Alaric extended a hand and helped Rowan to his feet.
"Why am I always the one who lands on my back. It's getting old." The icy pain of the poison he'd just absorbed flared in Rowan's chest, snatching away his breath as he spoke. He staggered against his brother, grateful for once to have a rock to lean on.
His eyes watered as he gripped one of Alaric's shoulders and forced his lungs to keep working. He couldn't tell if he was breathing in air or shards of glass. The magic in the soul seed stirred again and attempted to infuse some of Wren's energy into his body. Gently Rowan pushed it back, determined not to use it.
Alaric frowned at the garnet shimmer of Wren's magic where it loomed in front of them. "What is that?"
"Wren."
"Oh. Great."
"I suppose it could always be worse," Rowan spoke between gritted teeth.
The shoulder under Rowan's hand tensed. "Are you going to make it? I know usually Wren—"
