Hot!
With every breath, Nessa could see condensation. An unfortunate side effect of her magic draining someone’s flesh and blood was that the excess energy overwhelmed her in the form of heat. She felt like she was being raked over hot coals. She immediately threw off her fur cloak and, after a grimace, laid it over the gaping hole in the man’s chest. Out of sight, out of mind.
Beads of sweat dripped off her flushed forehead, a stark comparison to the man’s pale face. She fantasized about jumping into a lake and cooling off.
It’s okay. This can be salvaged. I just need to reverse my magic…
Nessa knit her brows. That was easier said than done. The last time she had “reversed her magic,” she accidentally exploded an injured wolf, its whimpering replaced with the unpleasant sound of silence, save for the wolf guts dripping off of her. Every attempt to rechannel the heat back into a living thing had ended in failure. But her targets had always been relatively small. This man had more mass than the wolf, so it would most likely reduce the risk. She hoped.
Nessa blew her hair out of the way with a puff, rubbed her hands together, and removed the cloak. He definitely was still missing his chest. She steeled herself and gripped the man’s exposed ribs like handles. He was going to die anyway, so she figured she might as well practice on him. If there was an innocent life at stake in the future, she wanted to be ready to save him or her.
Channeling the remnants of her power, Nessa felt the heat leave her core and flow into the man. The aura of heat that hung around her like a heavy blanket was lifted, and she finally felt the cold night air on her skin again. What a relief! A thin layer of muscle, fat, and skin began to close the hole, warm and living, regenerating away the man’s injury. Just as the wound began to close around her forearms, Nessa withdrew her hands. She circled the remaining holes with her fingertips and finished the job.
But now, she was freezing.
She snatched the fur cloak off the ground and put it back on. Although the fresh bloodstains on the cloak would be pesky to remove, hypothermia was decidedly peskier. Her hands and feet were growing cold, and a numb chill was spreading up her arms and legs. Her sweat grew cold.
She looked at the man’s chest to judge the quality of her work. Hmm. From what she could recall, the color of human flesh was supposed to be pinkish, not light gray. Still, his blood was flowing and nothing was leaking. Best of all, there were no meat explosions this time. She had never been this successful before. She grinned and nodded.
Nessa briefly wondered what she should do with the man. The layer of flesh she had generated for him to cover his chest was as thin as paper. Any type of foreign pressure on the area would certainly lead to a fatal puncture. She could see the skin inflating and deflating a bit with each of his shallow breaths. Poor creature! He so reminded her of the wolf she had obliterated. So fluffy and cute...
Nessa shook her head, attempting to maintain clarity. She was groggy. There were more urgent matters at hand. She felt all of her functions slowing down. Two thoughts breached the murkiness of her mind: she needed warmth and she needed shelter. She dragged the man off the road and into a large clearing.
Her now cold-as-ice hands clumsily attempted to spark a fire with flint and steel, but she fumbled with the tools and cut herself. The cold dulled the pain and yet made it hurt all the more. Cursing, she tried again and finally got a flame going. She threw any kindling she found around her into the fire, knelt in front of it, and thrust her icy hands right into the middle of the crackling flame.
She breathed deeply, and the fire dimmed. Its energy rippled through her and warmed her. However, her one inhalation sapped the fire’s strength completely. She was still chilly, so she was forced to strike another fire. She spent her sweet time nursing the next fire to full strength this time, no longer under the threat of freezing to death. She slowly sipped away at the new fire, not wanting to drain it away completely. After a half hour, she was once again as warm as a nice summer’s day.
Nessa got up to drag the man’s limp body next to the fire. As she put the man down, she felt his face and neck. He was cold as death; the heat from the fire would not be enough to keep him warm. She gave him a thorough pat-down and uncovered a dagger strapped to his leg. She removed the holster and strapped it to her own leg.
She unrolled her animal fur bedroll and maneuvered the man into it. To be safe, she tied many lengths of rope around him and the bedroll, being careful to avoid the chest area, so that the man could only wriggle around like a worm if he regained consciousness during the night.
“Not bad, not bad at all,” she remarked aloud, stepping back.
The rope was tight, but not tight enough to restrict any essential blood flow. Nessa was pretty confident that the man wouldn’t be going anywhere and wouldn’t pose a threat. This brought a satisfied grin to her lips. She had always been excellent with rope, after all. She gazed upon the footpad’s face and saw that a bit of color was returning to it. Good. The first survivor!
Satisfied with her handiwork, she curled up near the fire and, while thinking of questions to ask the man tomorrow, fell asleep.