[Harlan is used to the reaction to his magic at this point. It's bizarre to him that this is such a mythical thing for everyone, meanwhile it's all he's ever known. He's had to live without his magic exactly twice, and he was a miserable mess both times. How do nonmagical people get by?
Anyway.]
Alright. Hold still.
[He touches his fingertips to Ianchus's arm. It'd be slightly easier if he was willing to get more handsy, but he isn't, so he puts a little more oomph into the spell than would otherwise be necessary.
He wasn't lying—the sensation isn't painful but it isn't pleasant, either. It feels a bit like a numb limb regaining blood flow, the skin around Ianchus's wound suddenly remembering itself and shaking off the decay. Harlan focuses the magic there, since it's the worst of the injuries and it's not something they'll be able to fix at the clinic.
After about a minute, Harlan pulls away, the spell having run its course. The wound isn't fully healed, but it's been stabilized, and the necrotic flesh is no longer dead.]
no subject
Anyway.]
Alright. Hold still.
[He touches his fingertips to Ianchus's arm. It'd be slightly easier if he was willing to get more handsy, but he isn't, so he puts a little more oomph into the spell than would otherwise be necessary.
He wasn't lying—the sensation isn't painful but it isn't pleasant, either. It feels a bit like a numb limb regaining blood flow, the skin around Ianchus's wound suddenly remembering itself and shaking off the decay. Harlan focuses the magic there, since it's the worst of the injuries and it's not something they'll be able to fix at the clinic.
After about a minute, Harlan pulls away, the spell having run its course. The wound isn't fully healed, but it's been stabilized, and the necrotic flesh is no longer dead.]
That should hold you over.