Heat Tolerance

	The fire had blackened the entire field, instantly turning wet mud into cracked	clay. The Mist and magic lights	had burned away. My new sword was a steaming line of bronze slag on the ground. Carter lay	right where he’d dropped, wreathed in smoke, his hair charred, his face red with blisters.
	I feared the worst. Then his fingers twitched. He croaked out a	sound, like “Gug,” and I could breathe again.