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Or taken back, really.
Once she had a decent pile of fish for the two of them, she waded back to shore. She was still dripping wet, but a few seconds with her whole body turned into fire fixed that issue real fast. She pulled her dress back on—struggling to navigate her damn wings—but pretty soon, she had a fire going and was sitting there with her pile of trout.
It was exactly at that point that she realized she had no way to clean the fish. And while Eod would probably be happy to just gobble the damn things down whole, she didn’t want him to get a bone stuck in his system.
She didn’t want to go at them with her bare hands either. But she didn’t know what else to do.
“Magic?”
She blinked and looked up at Eod. That thought had been his. He was lying there next to her, his head on his paws, watching her every move with the fish. Furrowing her brow, she shook her head. “What do you mean?”
“Magic.” He thumped his tail on the ground, clearly proud of himself for coming up with such a solid plan. Despite the fact that she had no idea what he was talking about. To be fair, he was a dog, and he was trying his best.
Letting out a breath, she thought through that one word. Magic.
It was about then that she realized this was the first time since coming to Avalon that she was alone, not counting Eod. She always had someone telling her things. Doc would tell her what was going on. Mordred would tell her what to do. And Grinn would tell her off. Her chuckle ended in a sad sigh.
Now she had nobody to tell her anything.
And she got the serious suspicion that was by design. Why else would Doc have abandoned her? He had brought Eod to where he knew she was going to crash-land, and then up and left her.
No, this was about her figuring out things on her own.
Magic.
Why would Eod have suggested that one word? What could he sense that she didn’t? Did she have magic now? What if she wasn’t just an elemental anymore?
What did that even mean if it were true? Was she some weird…elemental–wizard hybrid? And how the hell was she even supposed to figure that out? Or use it?
Too many questions she couldn’t answer. Not without trying to do something, at any rate.
But do what?
Frowning down at the pile of fish, she knew she needed a knife to clean them. Maybe she could try to…create a knife?
There wasn’t any harm in trying, she supposed.
She shut her eyes and held her hand out in front of her, palm open and up. “I would like a knife.”
Nothing. Not like she was expecting otherwise.
“Knife.”
Nothing. Maybe she needed to say it harder.
“Kniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiife.”
Nothing. Maybe she needed to be polite?
“Knife. Please.”
Nope.
Dropping her hand into her lap, she took a moment to think it over. Maybe it was like when Mordred taught her to control her power. She had to not just think about it, she had to feel it.
Picking up her hand again, she did just that. She focused on what it would feel like to have an iron knife in her hand. She pictured one of Mordred’s dinner knives, hand-forged with a twisted handle. What it would feel like in her hand, the weight of it, the slight cold of the touch of iron.
Her thoughts wandered to the touch of Mordred’s iron gauntlets, the sharp points of his claws as they grazed her skin.
