The Earth-Tenders formed a half-circle around Grace and her patient, a middle-aged farmer with blue-purple corruption veins running up both arms. Willow stood at the front, her elegant features set in a skeptical expression.
"Whenever you're ready," she said, folding her arms.
Grace wiped her sweaty palms on her robes. Great. An audience. Just what she needed.
[Don't mess up, don't mess up, don't mess up...]
She took a deep breath and placed her hands on the farmer's forearms. His skin felt ice-cold, like touching a corpse. Grace closed her eyes and focused, channeling divine energy down her arms and into her fingertips.
Golden light bloomed beneath her palms, spreading out in delicate tendrils. The farmer gasped as warmth returned to his limbs. The corruption veins resisted at first, then began to recede, dissolving into golden particles that faded away.
"The cold is gone," the farmer said, staring at his now-clear arms with wonder.
