Who do you wish to be? There, like the seed of power that Cyrene had stolen, it lay—the little snarl in his magic. Not a snarl, but a knot—a knot in a tapestry. One that he might weave. One he might fashion into something if he dared. Who do you wish to be? he asked the barely woven tapestry within himself. Let the threads and knots take form, crafting the picture within his mind. Starting small. Glennis chuckled. “Your eyes are green now, king.”
