<span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Deep winter on Aruinnbith meant the world slept and all was quiet under a blanket of snow, lazy afternoons on a quiet farm, and dozing in the hay loft of the largest barn. The animals milled about below, grazing on the hay collected over autumn, and he let his fire juice up the wards keeping the barn hospitable during the worst storms. <br/>
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There was a bleating from one of the sheep below as he felt as much as heard Anael's request. A worried knot formed in the pit of his stomach and he rolled off the ledge of the hayloft, using his physical momentum to shift from one plane to another and into his uncle's/adopted father's home. <br/>
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The soft clean scent of baby powder hung in the air in the main room, but Anael wasn't entertaining. The main part of the house was empty. Foalan went deeper into the house and it didn't take him long to find Anael or the source of his concern. The scent of sick and poison was thick, mingling with ozone and the scent of a storm. Foalan found the bedroom and Anael, disliking the worried expression on his face. He stepped into the room, took in the figure on the bed. Pale, clammy, a Schi, like himself. <br/>
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And he was dying. <br/>
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Foalan brushed past Anael, pressing his hand against his shoulder. "Well this is just wrong,"he said, "this one is entirely too cute to be in this state."Even under the paleness and the wounds, Foalan could appreciate the sharp curve of the schi's jaw, the tilt of his nose. Foalan sat down on the bed and pulled the sheets down, exposing the schi's torso. He lifted a wrist, feeling the strength of his pulse and allowing his magic to glide just over the surface of the schi's skin, searching for information without pushing against the darkness subduing him. <br/>
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The man on the bed didn't move, didn't stir or flinch as Foalan touched him, a sure sign that he was ill. Anael's home didn't protect others from his flame with near the accuity of his family home on Aruinnbith. The magic that was killing him was an insidious spell that slipped out of Foalan's kenning each time he tried to take hold of it and plum for its secrets. <br/>
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"He's part Tuathan," Foalan said softly, "But I can't tell if he's ever stepped foot on the planet or if his magic is low because of the attack. It's going to take some time to figure it out, you rest, I've got him for now. Once I figure out what's going on I can use it to heal your hand as well."<br/>
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