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Spells of fire are dangerous by nature. Not that any feat of magic will ever be completely safe. But if you mess a spell to chop wood then you might have to deal with splinters. Mess up a spell to light a fireplace, however? The house burns down.
With that in mind, you quickly step (crawl) outside and jump out of the moving beastkin wagon. It is so slow now that you could catch up to it by walking in a brisk pace. The darker it gets the more sluggish the caravan gets. No one enjoys marching at night, and the stragglers need time to catch up, so the wagons will stop soon. You consider about lighting a normal fire and tossing the thing in there, but it would attract unwanted attention and you can't really explain what this horrid thing is. There is also no telling what it will do when you burn it.
You swallow. Your mouth is as dry as old bark and you are sweating more than you should for just a quick step outside.
<span class="mu-i">Breath</span> you think <span class="mu-i">and concentrate on your task. Can't afford mistakes.</span>
The cloth strip between your fingers heat up and turn to flame. You hold the fire inside your own head, careful not to burn yourself or snuff it out, until you release its full intensity onto the foul maggot. It screeches and worms and writhes helplessly at the end of your pincer. Within the minute it is no more than foul smelling charcoal.
[32/100 fatigue. Your concentration was perfect. You rolled a 1 on a d10 and accrued no extra fatigue.]
You drop the pincers all together. Might as well throw it away with the curse worm. You can't think why you'd keep such crude tools, and using its a cutlery again is out of the question. The thought alone evokes a gagging reflex.
You watch it on the ground for a few more seconds, and once you are satisfied it is trully dead, you stamp it out and turn back.
The caravan now has moved some good distance ahead of you, but you are confident you can catch up to them.
On the walk you can't help but smile thinking about the Master Chet and Lapom and even the little kittling. You did good today, you think. You notice, with some guilt, that you have been enjoying this leg of your travel. You got to practice your gift, and use it for good! And you are in the good graces of not only a very charming merchant, but also the captain of the Qartian guards. New clothes, you were washed by beautiful women, you had hot food for once... You dare even be hopeful.
"Hey, witch!"
You turn back, startled by the scream at the nape of your neck. A huge Qartian man grabs your mouth and punch you with his mailed fist. You don't remember what happened after, only that you were on the ground. Others were there too.
You were having trouble seeing and hearing. "Freak must have snuck in. Bag him!" A silk cloth was wrapped around your head. The last thing you felt was another heavy hit to the mouth of your stomach.
Then it was all darkness.
