“I can hardly believe it myself,” he answered with a smile. At times, he surprised himself with the foolish risks he took, guided solely by the voice of his intuition. It had told him once that she would succeed—only once—then it retreated into silence. And that had been enough for him.
But strangely, in his life, giving in to these feelings and hunches had led him to the greatest rewards.
He looked at Themis with quiet watchfulness. She was very pale right now, but he left her to wrangle the physical reaction she was likely experiencing without commenting directly; he certainly knew what it was like and understood instinctively that she had a strong need to have her dignity remain intact.
It was not that he had always succeeded in keeping his: once, he had pushed himself so far that he had blacked out for a few seconds after barely avoiding a recoil upon closing out the circle; he had split his head open on a table corner and still bore a small scar below his hairline. Not to mention ending up in St. Mungo's following his first attempt at 19 years old, all alone in his room.
She seemed to him a good deal less foolhardy.
“Transmutation takes a toll on the body if one is not careful. It is good that you have a habit of exercise already. It helps,” he said.
“There is a kernel of truth to the cliché image of alchemists as gaunt and haggard creatures; it is rooted in the common fault of not caring for the physical form in a profession that prizes itself so much more on Intellect, but demands so much of our energy.”
It was the pure amount of magic that was given to transmutations that likely caused this effect. The body took the resources for its replenishment from wherever it found them.
The Homunculus appeared beside them, offering them cups of water on a tray.
But strangely, in his life, giving in to these feelings and hunches had led him to the greatest rewards.
He looked at Themis with quiet watchfulness. She was very pale right now, but he left her to wrangle the physical reaction she was likely experiencing without commenting directly; he certainly knew what it was like and understood instinctively that she had a strong need to have her dignity remain intact.
It was not that he had always succeeded in keeping his: once, he had pushed himself so far that he had blacked out for a few seconds after barely avoiding a recoil upon closing out the circle; he had split his head open on a table corner and still bore a small scar below his hairline. Not to mention ending up in St. Mungo's following his first attempt at 19 years old, all alone in his room.
She seemed to him a good deal less foolhardy.
“Transmutation takes a toll on the body if one is not careful. It is good that you have a habit of exercise already. It helps,” he said.
“There is a kernel of truth to the cliché image of alchemists as gaunt and haggard creatures; it is rooted in the common fault of not caring for the physical form in a profession that prizes itself so much more on Intellect, but demands so much of our energy.”
It was the pure amount of magic that was given to transmutations that likely caused this effect. The body took the resources for its replenishment from wherever it found them.
The Homunculus appeared beside them, offering them cups of water on a tray.
