Icefall glared at the masked Knight leaning against a tree, his posture the picture of casual indifference. That stupid rabbit mask. He knew. He knew the Ironwood Treant had evolved into something she and her sister couldn't handle, and he was just standing there, doing nothing.
What made her blood boil was the faint, knowing smirk on his lips. It was the look of a man waiting for a train wreck he'd predicted, a smug, petty satisfaction that made her want to march over and knock his teeth in.
She wanted to yell for him to get over here, but her pride strangled the words in her throat. She'd just finished snubbing the Cleric who was with him. In her entire life, she'd never once asked for help.
As the Treant's aura swelled, so did her panic, and her resentment for the Knight crystallized into a cold, hard knot in her stomach. Fine. If she was going down, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her beg.
