POV: Miranda Prospero

The injured raven's wing felt fragile as parchment beneath Miranda's glowing fingertips, but she could sense the bones knitting back together under her careful ministrations. Silver light emanated from her hands as she worked, the same ethereal glow that had been healing woodland creatures since she was old enough to walk the forest paths behind her father's groundskeeper cottage.

"There you go, beautiful," she whispered as the raven flexed its newly healed wing ...