Date: 2007-10-23 05:05 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] comm-npc-2.livejournal.com
(It's not her imagination: the root writhes as the axe cuts into it, and there might be a shriek hovering at the edges of hearing.)

As she pivots, the table twists away from her hand.

One of the first two sorcerors is stumbling to his feet, raising his arm, hissing words in a language she doesn't recognize --

The table rises into the air, and slams broadside into her.
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