"Ow—"
Roy felt as though his back had split apart. He slowly opened his eyes, and dim yellow light entered his field of vision, followed by four faces wearing concerned expressions.
"You're awake."
Roy shakily sat up and looked around. It seemed they had carried him into a room resembling a garage. This was most likely Newt's workshop; Roy spotted quite a few different magical creature materials on a solid wooden rack nearby.
"Where am I?"
Roy touched his back. Thankfully, at least it still felt normal for the moment.
"Uh, you're inside my case. That Erumpent kicked you in the back just now, but luckily, that hormone treatment gun of yours is really quite effective. We gave you a few shots with it, and you seem fine now. Still, you'd better not move around too much yet. I think two of your ribs may be broken."
Roy checked himself and found that two of his ribs were indeed broken. Yet he still got to his feet, drew his wand, and aimed a string of healing spells at his chest. After healing himself, he rolled his shoulders. Good—now Roy was full of life again.
"Your physical constitution really is... formidable..."
Aisling silently watched the overwhelming effects of Roy's unusual healing magic, marveling inwardly.
Over the past year, perhaps even Roy himself had failed to notice that his healing spells had grown more and more effective. Compared to last summer, when it took him half a day to stop the bleeding from a small scrape on one of his friends' legs, he could now save almost anyone in a very short time, so long as their injuries had not killed them on the spot.
From Connor's fatal injury last Christmas, to the Fiendfyre burns Roy himself suffered from Dark Magic in