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Clutching his side, Dinmor tried to take a few more steps but couldn't. He collapsed to the ground in agony, blood pouring out through his fingers. Hissing, he wished that magical healing wasn't a fantasy and he wouldn't die alone in the middle of a field.
He couldn't die yet. His brother was in danger. With a groan, he dredged up the last of his magic to create flowers. Roses, dandelions. It didn't matter. He shoved them all into the wound to stop the blood.
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