Neya Heals Magically

	This will be the day. After long hours of study and theory it was finally time for the  practical healing magics.  Neya was sure that sh e had found her calling in life as a healer, no one in the class had a higher score on the tests, or understood the magics better. A barely (strike) well (strike) her face was as expressionless as usual, but inside she was exuberant if the light crimson glow of her wings was anything to go by.  While this ensured a larger than normal gap around her Neya showed no signs of caring.

	“Class this is Sir Humptery Dumptery who has kindly volunteered to aid us for this class.” The dark haired teacher gestures to the man at her side, twirling a scalpel around one finger. One sleeve rolled up.

	“Hello Sir Dumpetry.” The class choruses, some with more enthusiasm than others, the general mood nervous as they think about having to heal a real persons wounds.

	The stout man flashes a brilliant smile, blond hair gleams. “No need to be shy, I stood here myself years ago.” The scalpel flashes and a line of red appears on his exposed arm. Motes of light gather a moment later and the wound seals itself smoothly leaving not even a scar. “See, no harm.”

 Clapping his hands together, “So then, which of the young'uns is first?”

	The teacher glances down at her sheet before calling, “Neya. Why don't you come up first.”

Literally floating to the front of the class she shrinks a bit in on herself as the eyes of the class follow her.
“Well lass, ready to heal?” The scalpel draws a shallow line in his arm again.

	Taking a small breath she nods after a moment, holding both her hands up towards the cut as blood wells up. “With all certainty: I will heal this.”

	Gathering her inner reserves, and just pulling the slightest sliver from her deep reserves. No more than a few dozen atell woven into the matrices of the healing structure. The faint glow of ether is visible as it collects in her hands, before slowly sinking into the wound. The motes of light flickering, and though uncertain she could feel it binding the edges of the cut pulling it together and reversing the damage. She had done it!

“Well done, brilliant for your firs-”

Then it twisted, the energies warping upon themselves drawing in more from the mans arm. Black lines spread out from the almost healed cut, jagged cuts scathing ruthlessly up his arm.
	“Strange, but no matter.” Sir Dumptery flicks his other hand at the cut, pouring his own ether into the jagged wounds trying to heal them. It was readily drunk in.

Then the screaming began.



Grade.... F