The bonded grit his fearsome teeth together, growling in frustration as, yet again, his magic spilled from his paws and over his mistress's form. Most of it dripped uselessly onto the floor, splattering into sparkling motes before vanishing, ethereally, into nothing. Aestival thought he knew how to heal with his magic. He'd done it before, too. But those had been cuts and wounds, physical things that hadn't really been so bad. This was nothing like those wounds, and he didn't know how to fix it with his magic.

The Orderite healers made it seem so easy when he watched them, but he was realizing that there was much he was not seeing. Things he needed to know. He backed away, thrashing his powerful head at a safe distance from his mistress in aggravation.

Aestival hated the illness that brought down his mistress, but he hated being useless even more. His need to help her gnawed at him day and night, and the thought that he could not answer that need kept true sleep from reaching him. He was tired. He was grouchy. He just wanted to help, damn it all.

With a sour growl, he turned abruptly and stalked out into the hallway, navigating the house until he found the man he trusted almost as much as his bonded. “I need your help.” the beast admitted, swallowing his pride. “Again.”