The sand sprite plants her bare feet in the cracked, sun-bleached stone at the statue's base, shoulders squared and chin lifted, her voice dripping with manufactured menace.
"You really shouldn't underestimate someone like me," she says, hands weaving strange, fluid motions through the air as glittering streams of magic trail from her fingers, curling through the dry heat like tiny drifting constellations.
Vuvi watches with all the enthusiasm of someone who's seen a street magician pull the same rabbit out of the same hat for the fifteenth time. "Mm-hm. Yes. Very sparkly. Does it come in 'impressive'?"
Veena yawns and inspects her nails. "I've seen more threatening magic in a child's birthday cake."
Pip tilts his head beside them, his tone somewhere between curious and polite, as if wondering whether the moment calls for applause. Beep?
