Cinderfall

Ashford

"What do you mean I'm a sprout?" Ashford felt her eyebrows furrow at the little bird. The bird, Luce as he called himself, sat perched in the mane of Ashford's horse. The gelding's ears flicked back, making the bird hop slightly out of reach.

They were trotting down the road, a little over an hour away from the capitol. In the early morning there weren't any other riders to share the road with, which was good as Ashford preferred to speak openly to Luce, and didn't want to look like a madman.

She had found that Luce could speak openly, but preferred to speak mind to mind whenever possible. Ashford had consented to this method, partially because it looked incredibly odd to have a bird speak in full sentences, and partly because Luce didn't speak the common tongue very well. Between his stilted accent and trying to speak through a bird beak, it was just hard to understand him. The mind speaking did still feel odd to her, as though she was sharing her head with an overbearing tutor that just wouldn't leave her alone, which he also was.

It had gotten to the point three days in that Ashford had to physically swat the bird away to get him to stop trying to teach her. It wasn't that she didn't want to know. She fervently needed to know all about magic that she could, but he kept trying to teach her while she was managing the house, or when she was writing out business and legal letters, or by whispering to her when she was eating dinner with the madam and the girls. She could not retain anything that he had been trying to teach, and she couldn't put the attention she needed in her own tasks. The rules had been made. Luce was only to teach her when she had the time and when she was alone, thus now the bird was taking advantage of the trip to the palace with make-up lessons.

Yes little dullard. Luce replied using his irritating pet name for her. One who can see the veins of energy, but cannot alter them, these would be the sprouts. A lot of people can never get further than a sprout, it all depends on their sight and their own power. You have plenty of both, so it shouldn't be hard to move you up to gardener after a bit of practice.

"Gardener?" Ashford looked skeptically at the bird, "That doesn't sound very magical."

The bird turned up its beak in what Ashford had learned was an expression of distaste.

Must everything sound fantastical for it to be so? A tree does not sound magical yet it produces air, life, and home for many. A cloud does not sound magical and yet it produces the forces religions are made from. The forces you can see are just as powerful and just as natural as either of those and yet you wish for a fancy title for you? If you tend to the forces of nature you are a gardener, aren't you?

"Couldn't I also be a farmer then if that were the case?"

Luce shook his head vehemently. A Farmer! A Farmer the dullard says! What nonsense has wormed its way into your ears? Come closer so that I may pluck it out!

Ashford leaned a little away from the bird and grimaced. "I get it, not a farmer." She put one of her hands up in a surrendering gesture. Once Luce had settled, Ashford felt safe in continuing her questioning. "So, if I become a gardener, do I become like you?"

In the same way that a sapling is like a grandfather oak. Luce chided, still venomous, but diluted. A Gardner may only alter their own energies and only has themselves as a resource to draw from. It is very limited in what can be achieved or maintained for very long.

Ashford paused and glanced at her teacher measuringly. The first time the bird had done any magic, she had thought that the glowing gold of the bird had faded just a little. In the past week, it seemed that just by being near her the bird had lost a miniscule amount of luster. Not as much as when he had done magic, but enough to be noticeable.