Do You Still Think About Her?

"Your powers have diminished, Bjarna, far too feeble for a witch of your rank," Ahspid remarked, his gaze fixed upon her as she gingerly readjusted her black canvas bag on the side of the horse's saddle. Every movement of hers was scrutinized by his keen eyes, filled with insatiable curiosity.

Bjarna, still avoiding direct eye contact with the mage, responded with a hint of awkwardness in her voice, 

"And what, pray tell, does that imply? Are you now questioning my abilities, after witnessing what I have achieved here?"

"Your condition was dire when the fire witch was summoned," Ahspid began, his tone laden with concern and slight suspicion. "You were barely able to sit upright, lost your ability to speak, and had to send Ylva right back once the curse was lifted. Even now, you appear as though it will take another day or two for you to fully recover. Normally, a witch's powers should amplify with age, but in your case, I observe quite the contrary."