And, because he can feel the energy beating around him like a heart, urgent along the edge of the circle and eddying off the small chalk lines, he holds up an apologetic finger for just a sec.
When he speaks again it is in another language. It's low, soft; one of the more distinct words is agni.
This is a spell for an aura that lives beside the skin and just beneath it. It's for heat, as his warmth is the variable he needs to control, and for protection, against changes to the temperature. It's not entirely a shield; it's more organic than that.
A little more breathable.
After a moment he crouches down, careful not to break the bounds of the circle, and sacrifices a very, very small amount of this warmth to turn it into flame. It jumps from the tip of one finger to the cardamom and rosemary, and the smell of them as they burn drifts through the room.
Matt drops them into his shallow bowl and straightens.
The last words of the spell fall like the last notes of a piece, and when the herbs have burned and he speaks them the chalk seems almost to blaze--
He looks different, now. The light beside his skin is darker, less gold and more umber, and there is something ... organized, to it.
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And, because he can feel the energy beating around him like a heart, urgent along the edge of the circle and eddying off the small chalk lines, he holds up an apologetic finger for just a sec.
When he speaks again it is in another language. It's low, soft; one of the more distinct words is agni.
This is a spell for an aura that lives beside the skin and just beneath it. It's for heat, as his warmth is the variable he needs to control, and for protection, against changes to the temperature. It's not entirely a shield; it's more organic than that.
A little more breathable.
After a moment he crouches down, careful not to break the bounds of the circle, and sacrifices a very, very small amount of this warmth to turn it into flame. It jumps from the tip of one finger to the cardamom and rosemary, and the smell of them as they burn drifts through the room.
Matt drops them into his shallow bowl and straightens.
The last words of the spell fall like the last notes of a piece, and when the herbs have burned and he speaks them the chalk seems almost to blaze--
He looks different, now. The light beside his skin is darker, less gold and more umber, and there is something ... organized, to it.