Khith warned. “The fumes that will arise from this distillation are powerful. Unless you wish to take a nap on the floor, cover your mouth and nose, then hold your breath while pouring.” Jezzil glanced over at the Hthras, took up a length of cloth and tied it across his face. Then, very carefully, he tipped the distillation flask and began filling the six small bottles with the greenish liquid. “Be sure you get the same amount into all of the bottles,” Khith said. The Hthras was perched atop a human-sized stool on the other side of the room it had set up as a laboratory. “My notes say this distillation makes exactly three doses per vial.” Jezzil did not speak. Eyes narrowed in concentration, he poured with great care. Not until he was finished and the bottles were sealed did he step away from the distillation tubes and burners to face his teacher. He glanced at his notes. Khith had begun teaching him its own language, so it could translate the spells and potions with greater accuracy.
