I did not hesitate, but pulled in as much of the river of power as I could. More and more, further, deeper. More.
And then a tiny infinitesimal portion escaped.
The explosion lifted me off my feet and hurled me across the graveyard.
After a time – minutes or hours I had no clue – I groggily stood. No bones were broken, but there were plenty of scrapes and bruises. My head was pounding fit to break.
As my vision cleared, I saw Thomas. He sat slumped against Brook’s gravestone. Unmoving. Blood was pouring from his nose, a cut on his forehead. His left forearm was snapped, white bone poking through flesh. His face and arms and legs were already bruising. Black and blue and bloody.
Here lies Thomas Nallahan Proudblood. Murderer of .. No. Stop.
I stopped the thought.
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