( Given that she was expecting some kind of explosive recoil or kickback to knock her backwards into him, the actual sudden dissipation of the little storm is, strangely, satisfying anticlimactic. She shakes her wrist out under his hand; it feels no worse than if she's leant too hard on a desk, or done a few too many push-ups. )
Is there a risk of having that blow up in your face as well, or only the caster's?
( Which determines whether or not it's safe to get into melee range to disrupt spells. She means to turn and look over her shoulder at him, gently shake him off and resume sparring so that she might put what he's shown her to use, but then comes his offer of one more thing. Absolutely she's up for it, and, the way he explains it, over her shoulder to her, it seems like it's going to be something good. If not a bit dangerous to her, but she has no reason to not treat him as a teacher who has a genuine interest in seeing her succeed. That this is magic he's better off not showing her, is a thought which doesn't occur to her, even if he's basically saying he has no idea what her limits might be. )
All right. I'll let you know if your magic--doesn't like that I'm not an elf? If anything feels too weird.
( The magic that courses through her next initially builds like the first kind, but it feels different immediately, even to her lack of expertise. There's nothing soft or playful about it, no song for her to want to hum to, no rhythm other than that with which he provides and directs it. He seems to have more control over the currents of it, but the eddies are more violent upon her, much harsher and visceral and it feels as if something smooth about her were being roughened.
She of course doesn't know about mana, at least not in a way that matters. As the magic courses through her it skims along the surface of herself, kept from sweeping away something essential from her only by dint of his own aeons of focus and control and being what he is. Right at the peak she finally, finally flinches--sweat beads the nape her neck, her breath catches, she's curiously exhausted, and it feels like all the force in her body has been snatched to reduce her to such an enervated state. She's about to say something, when he starts to wind down whatever it is he's channelling. His will, his force, his spirit? All the while her hands follow his, copying the movements and signs they make with a significantly growing languor.
Finally, it's over, and she trembles for a few seconds. But, she is a strong woman, and she stands through the shaking of her knees. With a quieter voice: ) Are you trying reconstruct that buildings with the sheer strength of your will? I think if you're going to do it, I'm probably not going to be much help. I don't think I can do that again.
quietly pretends to have self control
Is there a risk of having that blow up in your face as well, or only the caster's?
( Which determines whether or not it's safe to get into melee range to disrupt spells. She means to turn and look over her shoulder at him, gently shake him off and resume sparring so that she might put what he's shown her to use, but then comes his offer of one more thing. Absolutely she's up for it, and, the way he explains it, over her shoulder to her, it seems like it's going to be something good. If not a bit dangerous to her, but she has no reason to not treat him as a teacher who has a genuine interest in seeing her succeed. That this is magic he's better off not showing her, is a thought which doesn't occur to her, even if he's basically saying he has no idea what her limits might be. )
All right. I'll let you know if your magic--doesn't like that I'm not an elf? If anything feels too weird.
( The magic that courses through her next initially builds like the first kind, but it feels different immediately, even to her lack of expertise. There's nothing soft or playful about it, no song for her to want to hum to, no rhythm other than that with which he provides and directs it. He seems to have more control over the currents of it, but the eddies are more violent upon her, much harsher and visceral and it feels as if something smooth about her were being roughened.
She of course doesn't know about mana, at least not in a way that matters. As the magic courses through her it skims along the surface of herself, kept from sweeping away something essential from her only by dint of his own aeons of focus and control and being what he is. Right at the peak she finally, finally flinches--sweat beads the nape her neck, her breath catches, she's curiously exhausted, and it feels like all the force in her body has been snatched to reduce her to such an enervated state. She's about to say something, when he starts to wind down whatever it is he's channelling. His will, his force, his spirit? All the while her hands follow his, copying the movements and signs they make with a significantly growing languor.
Finally, it's over, and she trembles for a few seconds. But, she is a strong woman, and she stands through the shaking of her knees. With a quieter voice: ) Are you trying reconstruct that buildings with the sheer strength of your will? I think if you're going to do it, I'm probably not going to be much help. I don't think I can do that again.