Silvermist hit the ground with an undignified thud, wheezing like a fish tossed onto dry land. She clutched at the blessedly solid earth beneath her, gulping in the sweet, non-molten air as if she had just barely survived a near-drowning experience—after inhaling hellfire fumes which was trying to crisp her lungs into a well-done steak.
Her entire body felt like it had been sautéed against its will, and every breath still carried the faint taste of ash and poor life choices. But at least she was alive.
Estes, however, was having the time of his life.
The smug absolute menace of an elf squatted beside her like some benevolent deity bestowing mercy upon a lowly mortal. He even had the audacity—no, the sheer gall—to pat her head.
"There, there!" he cooed, his voice dangerously close to baby talk. "You can breathe properly now."
Silvermist's eye twitched. Oh, she was going to kill him.
