"Don myn syt rator," said Medes, as clearly as he could.
"Don myn syt rator," Ina repeated. She kept her eyes closed, and the runes fixed in her mind. Each word intensified a trickle of tickles she felt swirling in her chest and back. When she finished the sentence, the Magic in her seemed to syphon out and disappear, leaving her spent, gasping, and ecstatic.
"Colors," said Kier. "Shapes," he said louder. "Wet," he pointed at Ina. She was still soaked and dripping by the rain.
"Poisoned," said Ina pointing back at the Mage.
"Right. Runes." Kier threw himself at Ina to take the slips where the runes were written. He let himself fall to lie face up on the floor, read the Runes, but took a quick glance at Ina. "Water suits you, though. Quite nicely."