"What's with that expression? Do you not trust my words?"
Alistar considered the series of logs that Tramon had set up outside of his home at the collegia. The grizzled man had felled a modestly tall tree and then cut its length into several sections, all of which he had lined up in the shade beneath the young oak where Alistar had spent many hours meditating over the past two years.
"I do, it's just…"
He stared down at the small stick that he held in his right hand, which was about the length of his arm with the width of his thumb. Did his master really expect him to be able to cut these logs in half with nothing but this brittle, ordinary stick?
"Lucian's sake, give me that."
