The Hope of Prayer

Tears of frustration built in her eyes, but the weather was so cold that they froze before they could fall. Her vision remained as crisp as the wind that snapped through the mountain range, and her rage was as sharp and towering as the peaks themselves. She simmered with such anger that it was a wonder the frost did not melt from around her.
 
Everything moved too quickly and yet not fast enough. She felt almost powerless. Pip had been swallowed whole. Amarille was captured in the dragon's grasp. She was trapped behind a damnable wall, and though her adrenaline remained piqued, she felt worn. She had limited magic left, she knew, for there was a growing emptiness inside, and accessing those powers was becoming a strain. Only enough for a few small stunts, or one big show.
 
She held onto a flicker of hope as she watched Keth mount the wall. And Flicker. She heard Flicker behind her, talking to...by the gods, what business now? A ghost? As if there was not enough to contend with. Perhaps it and its allies might be swayed to refocus on the dragon. Perhaps...perhaps a greater power could be called. Perhaps Shahariel would hear her, through the gusting wind and frigid air, all the way into the heavens.