An option like and unlike magic

Aelorin's cane came crashing down onto the hard flooring for the ninth time that day, skidding across the polished surface with a clatter. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth as he let out a pained groan. "Damn it!" he growled, struggling to push himself up onto his elbows. His arms trembled under the strain, and his legs felt like jelly.

ShiVak, perched atop a wooden stool like some kind of predatory bird, finally relaxed her stance. She didn't look tired at all, not a bead of sweat on her brow. "That should be enough to warm you up," she said casually, as though tossing him around like a sack of flour was her morning stretch routine.

Aelorin shot her a glare that could have melted iron, though the effect was dampened by the blood he coughed out seconds later. His internal monologue was less restrained: Warm me up? You've practically killed me! I swear, if I ever evolve this woman into a rat, I'll make her the most annoying rodent in history.