#rigan valmonde

[grantaire-sleeping]

'Cast a smaller net with your thoughts,' Aiden cautioned, gripping Rigan's shoulders more firmly. 'Just you, just this moment, right here. Breathe. Focus. Feel.' Rigan strained to quell his fears and still the barrage of images crossing his mind's eye, each more horrific than the last. He tried to focus on the warmth of Elinor's hands, the strength in Aiden's hold on his shoulders, the pull of the muscles in his legs as he sat cross-legged on the hard floor. Breath in. Out. In. Out.

Scourge, Gail Z. Martin

[grantaire-sleeping]

'Get out of here!' Rigan growled, turning to face Polly and Aiden. 'Together, or not at all.' Aiden's jaw was set, and Polly looked furious and determined.

Scourge, Gail Z. Martin

[grantaire-sleeping]

Since when can Rigan hurl lightning?" "Since that damn thing tried to kill my brother," came the answer. Rigan sounded tired and weakened, but there was a note of triumph in his voice that made Corran smile. "Once we're safe back home, we'll discuss the wisdom of throwing lightning when you're soaking wet," Aiden snapped. "You could have fried yourself as much as you cooked that thing." "But I didn't." Rigan's hazy tone suggested he had a slim hold on consciousness.

Vengeance, Gail Z. Martin

aka Aiden is getting real tired of your shit, Rigan

[grantaire-sleeping]

I don't know what to do." Healing a soul-damaged witch had not been covered in his apprenticeship. "Food might help," Rigan replied. His voice was too quiet. "Rest. Not having to kill anyone for a while, or summon the dead, or sell our souls to an Elder God.

Scourge, Gail Z. Martin

[grantaire-sleeping]

Shit." Corran ran a hand back through his hair. "Isn't there anyone else who can train you?" The memory of Rigan waiting in a darkened workshop for a knife in the back, afraid of what he might become, was still to raw to forget. "Aiden." Corran glanced at Rigan. "The healer?" Rigan nodded. "I trust him. My gut says he's all right.

Scourge, Gail Z. Martin