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The magic courses through his body, burning in his veins like fire ravaging a dry field. It sears him — he thinks he can hold it in, but the pain builds and builds. He must loose it, let it fly.
Merlin thinks no one is watching and he can no longer hold back, he is in agony. He twitches his fingers and whispers, “Hors, beride þá heofonum.” He smiles with pleasure. It feels too good to let his magic out. He wants to savor the moment and immerse himself in it, but he is rudely interrupted.
“Did you see the smoke?”