Rowan began to move her hands in the air, chanting in a language I didn’t recognize. Her words were so faint and quiet that even with my enhanced werewolf hearing, I could barely catch any of it. As she continued to chant, she reached into a bowl and pulled out a handful of powder, which she began to gently sprinkle over Lyra’s body.
I noticed that Rowan’s breathing was becoming heavier, clearly strained. The spell was taking a toll on her, draining her strength with every movement. But despite the difficulty, she didn’t need any book or guide to perform what she was doing.
She’d known this spell all along. She just hadn’t cast it because she believed she couldn’t. That was what made me angriest.
She was prepared to let her own daughter suffer without even attempting to help.
It wouldn
