The gentle warmth of healing magic spreads across the laceration on her back, flesh slowly beginning to knit itself back together under its influence. Millicent can’t help the relieved sigh that escapes her at the sensation. Even her shoulders, perpetually tensed these dark days, drop a bit.
It feels much different than the healing magic granted by the king and crystal, this being much more gentle and soothing. The magic of the Oracle bloodline must come from another source. It’s weaker, she notes, unpracticed or just a weaker connection to the source of power.
“Thank you” she rasps, reaching for the water bottle she had been offered and downing half of it to soothe her dry throat. Silence falls between them as Ravus works and Millicent does her best to wind down from the mission gone not so well. “I didn’t know you could use magic” there had never been mention of a male oracle in the history of the fleurets, though she supposed the men would have at least some sort of connection to the family magic in one way or another.
It is never much, for Ravus is neither his mother nor his sister; what healing magic he boasts is just enough to ease pain and slow bleeding and to close wounds. But it is enough to make him useful, so he offers it when he must in his quiet way that is very unlike the image of Commander Ravus that the Empire had tried so hard to paint for the world.
When it seems that the woman will be fine, no longer seeming to be on the brink of death, he withdraws. The glow fades from his fingers as he draws his hand away.
"I don't advertise it unless needed," he replies, soft-spoken. "It is nothing in comparison to the ability of my sister." After all, he comes from a line that favors the women, and no effort had ever been put into his own meager abilities beyond the teaching of the very minimal basics.
