Lysander’s back straightened and he placed his fingers at his temples, face scrunching into an awkward squinting half-frown as he stared Veldrys down. How did he do it every night and day? It just happened. There was no concentration involved, no meditation, he was a child and then he was Leth’s fallen and it had happened like that every dawn and dusk since he had woken up.
Nothing.
The boy huffed, letting his hands thump against the top of the table. A teacup shrieked its protest and the liquid inside threatened to spill out over old gnarled wood. “Show me more,” he leaned forward, elbows pressing hard into a time-worn surface, “do you remember what my face looks like at night? Can you turn into me?”
Pleading browns assessed Veldrys’ gaunt face. Something in the pit of his stomach twisted and felt like failure; he’d almost given up before he’d really tried, but he could not wrap his head around the concept of meditation. The only time his head found itself clear was moments before sleep, when his eyelids were glued shut and his limbs were too heavy to move. Two thick eyebrows knitted together. “Is all magic this hard?”
Nothing.
The boy huffed, letting his hands thump against the top of the table. A teacup shrieked its protest and the liquid inside threatened to spill out over old gnarled wood. “Show me more,” he leaned forward, elbows pressing hard into a time-worn surface, “do you remember what my face looks like at night? Can you turn into me?”
Pleading browns assessed Veldrys’ gaunt face. Something in the pit of his stomach twisted and felt like failure; he’d almost given up before he’d really tried, but he could not wrap his head around the concept of meditation. The only time his head found itself clear was moments before sleep, when his eyelids were glued shut and his limbs were too heavy to move. Two thick eyebrows knitted together. “Is all magic this hard?”
