«Lara.»

Terry's pleading voice forced her thoughts to the task on hand. She steadied herself and gave him a reassuring nod. They were used to following her lead and it was natural to look to her now. She took another breath and let it out, pushing down the revulsion welling up.

The words to the healing chant rose out of that same bank of knowledge and she repeated them under her breath as she slid the razor-sharp knife beneath Terry's skin and found the barb.

Kunasz, nelkul sivdobbanas, nelkul fesztelen loyly. Ot elidamet andam szabadon elidadert. O jela sielam jorem ot ainamet es so?e ot elidadet. O jela sielam pukta kinn minden szelemeket belso. Pajnak o susu hanyet es o nyelv nyalamet sivadaba. Vii, o verim so?e o verid andam.

The ancient Carpathian language she'd learned as a child came easily. She might be rusty, having never used it other that to murmur it to herself before she fell asleep, but the words, spoken in a chant, were always soothing to her.

As she whispered the healing words, she blocked Terry's pain. The fang was wicked-and nasty. It curved into the skin growing wider, digging deep, and at the end, near the point, was a small barb, curving in the opposite direction. She had to slit the skin carefully to allow the points on either side to become loose enough to slide out without further damaging Terry's leg.

At first she used her human sight, blocking all other ability to see until she had the barb out. Only then did she allow herself to look with the eyes of a mage. Tiny white worms writhed and burrowed, swarming to the cells to reproduce as quickly as possible. Her stomach lurched. It took tremendous effort to shed her awareness of her own thoughts and physical self and become a blaze of healing white light pouring into Terry's wound to burn the organisms as quickly as she found them.