The Spellweaver Phyrris… “Fire” from Elfdreams 7

The Spellweaver refused to partake of the Council’s meal of fruits of the forest, returned to the forge, worked through the next Amber Period, and returned to his red oak home. On the way a hare crossed his path. Phyrris zapped the beast with a Magick Missile. He preserved some of the hare’s blood to use in Haste Spells and then roasted the coney with a Fire Spell. The beast provided a hearty meal. Phyrris found he was less satisfied with fruits and vegetables and had grown fond of meat. He enjoyed his repasts most often in the solitude of his home. The tired Spellweaver slipped off his raiment and settled down into his soft bed. His mind returned to his travel in the red and blue light with the sultry Kirrie. He pondered the gift of the forge. Then thoughts of the Council’s suspicions angered him. He remembered the Tree Shepherd’s contempt of Fire Magick. The Tree Shepherd had not felt the comfort of the waters of Fire Lake. Phyrris snapped his left thumb and third finger. Little sparks flew from his digits. He rubbed his thumb and index finger muttered his name “Phyrris” and produced a small flame at the tip of his finger. “Fire” felt warm. Pleasant smoke billowed from the little flame. He remembered Kirrie’s warmth and softness. His younger brother and fellow Spellweaver Aergin’s progress pleased him. The Spellweaver extinguished the flame by uttering the old Drelvish word for water “Purya.” Phyrris closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The smoky air brought back memories of Fire Lake and Kirrie. He found sleep.