You frown at Briar, puzzled by the wording and the tone of her remark. "And I'm a sorcerer, and we're both friends with a witch. Why is it an issue that the old man's a wizard?"
The doctor examining you frowns when you speak to what he likely perceives as empty air, and shines a penlight in your eyes while asking if you're feeling any pain, or hearing voices. You respond in the negative to both - after all, you're only hearing one voice at the moment.
"Sorcery and witchcraft both involve making contact with spirits, and employing their power to affect a change in the world," Briar explains. "The Hyrulean method just uses your own spirit, instead of a demon, a god, a nature spirit, or some ancestor... although you're kind of doing the last one. Either way, you're drawing on one source of power, at most a small group of related sources, and generally leaving the other potential sources alone. Wizardry, though, that draws power from the environment. What sources a wizard can access, how much magic he can take in, what he can do with it, and how much damage he does in the process depend on how well he's been trained. Hyrulean wizards got it drummed in early and often that magic should be used only when necessary, and then preferably by tapping the reserves they'd built up over time, in small amounts whose loss wouldn't hurt anything that relied on magic. Every wizard I've met since coming to Earth seems to have been taught to do the exact opposite: they use magic for everything; and they don't seem to know or care what it does when they tear the power for a spell out of a fairy who couldn't shield against the drain in time."
You frown and - since your attending medic has turned his back for the moment - murmur, "Bad?"
"It can kill us, Alex. Especially when we're little. Even if the drain isn't fatal, it can be crippling, and fairies aren't the only creatures that suffer from things like that. A human infant can have any potential for magic snuffed out by a wizard who's being particularly stupid or sloppy." She gives you a meaningful look. "There's a reason why some of the Great Fairies spend their time being fairy godmothers, you know, and it's not just because they think human kids are cute."
Huh. You glance sidelong at Altria's companion. You don't feel like he's leeching at your magic...
Briar notes the direction of your interest and sighs. "This guy's more considerate than most of the local wizards I've met," she grudgingly admits. "At least, he's not pulling magic from anything except himself right now for whatever he's doing." She frowns. "Looks like a standard physical healing spell, some elements of fatigue-relief... huh. Not as much of a restorative component as I would have expected. Not that human magic is generally all that hot at restoring personal energy except in short-term bursts, but a wizard as old as that one looks should be able to manage... wait, didn't Rule Guy say something about having to get your methods vetted by a committee? Maybe that's why..."
The fairy trails off, muttering to herself.
"Well," your doctor says. "Aside from a number of bruises, a short attention span, and an excess of imagination, you seem to be in good condition. So why are you taking up space on one of my beds?"
You look at the balding man with the blue shirt. "I got my bell rung pretty loudly in my last match, Doc, and I've got two fights coming up against opponents that can punch craters in the ring. It seemed like a good idea to make sure I wouldn't be going into those matches with a concussion."
"An even better idea would have been to not get hit in the head to begin with," the doctor retorts dryly. "In any event, you are not concussed, or even particularly injured that I can determine. In my considered and expert opinion, the most you need in the way of treatment at this point is an aspirin. Shall I fetch you one?"