Chapter 2: A Scarf and a QuillSitting on the grassy northern hillside behind airy white marble, boots off and toes buried in the dirt, watched by four out of six mage-students, Garrett said, “Most of what we do here is knowing the world. Feeling it. Understanding it, inside and out. You’re here because you have some sense of how to feel it—the sense we call magic, that most people don’t have. Or they have tiny amounts. A sixth sense for where to dig a well, which berries to eat. That sort of thing. For you it’ll be stronger. Whatever talent you have.”
“Rock,” Quen said, neatly cross-legged, regarding Garrett with an uncomfortable amount of hero-worship. “Stones. The earth.”
“For me, yes. For you, water. I can’t do what you can. I might do something else—but that’s important. We’re not al
