inside herself, against the power, shoving it down, down. Rowan prowled closer. “Let it out. Don’t fight it.” A pulse beat against her, nipping, smelling of snow and pine. Rowan’s power, taunting hers. Not like her fire, but a gift of ice and wind. A freezing zap at her elbow had her falling back against the tree. The magic bit her cheek now. Magic—attacking her.
🦅🧝🏼♀️🫦
