In a panic, she opened her palms and a butterfly of light flew from her hands, batting through the air until it collided with the fat slaver’s face. “Look,” she said desperately. Another butterfly. And another. “I am a Wielder. I can perform. You can get a good price for me. Better than the mines.” The two slavers watched the butterflies rise into the sky, disappearing against the unbroken silver moon.
she can create illusions?
