Nicias had spent the entire day watching me and women create a new space for the home of his cousin. He had seen the stone shift, and rumble, and it had left him quite impressed. When would he be able to do that? It had left him short tempered and snappish to the point where his father had sent him out of the forge. What business did he have carrying things if he was going to be so impatient with them?

Nic scuffed his foot on the ground. He wanted to learn magic. And he didn't even know a single spell.

"Nicias?" he heard a shuffle nearby, and he recognized the sounds of his great-aunt Dziri, who had come to supervise the project, as it were. Really, she had done very little beyond complain that the mist and rain chilled her knees, that the work was moving to slowly, too quickly, that someone was going to drop something of import, or generally making a nuisance of herself, as she was wont to do. But the family respected her position, and so none complained of her presence.

Small bells dangled at the corners of her mossy green shawl, wrapped tightly about her wizened shoulders to ward her from the cool of the valley. That coupled with her brown-grey garb and frazzled grey hair, she looked rather like a rock. And, like a rock, she was steadfast in her ways.

Namely, her way of straightening out the youth of the family. She approached the boy and gave him her usual prods, "Nicias, what are you doing outside, so idle as this? Idle hands make idle minds, where capricious mischief breeds. Stand up straight, child, and do something worthwhile."

Nic tried to stand up straighter but he simply felt too depressed to do so. He sighed heavily and walked towards his aunt.

"I am never going to do anything worthwhile, aunt." He mumbled miserably, "I am not even able to cast a single spell."

Saying the words out loud made them seem more real and he rubbed his eyes because he could feel them prickling. Nic wanted to cry, but that would have been rude.

She prodded his shoulders and mid-back to push him upright, "Inability is oft due to lack of effort."

She frowned at him and proceeded to dust off his clothes, picking off even the invisible specks of lint and dirt, "Have you ever attempted a spell?"

The power of her gaze made Nic want to suck on his thumb. Instead of that he licked both of his hands and ran them over his hair, nervously.

"Neh." He stopped and corrected himself. "No....Maybe. No."

Nic blushed. He wasn't sure what the correct answer was supposed to be.

"Very good," she told him, nodding approvingly as he made an effort to take care of his hair, though it didn't stop her from picking at him. Licking her thumb and rubbing a smudge on his cheek, she continued, "You are not doing these things without supervision. That is good. But if you wish to learn, why have you not asked?"

She gave him a piercing gaze.

After she was done wiping Nic rubbed at his cheek unconsciously and left another soot stain on it.

"Always thought that Daoa would teach me but she never did because she is always busy." He mumbled, "And Da's got enough to worry about and I am always minding my brothers and sisters anyway." It was a lot of words from someone who was usually so quiet.

Dziri pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulers as she sniffed at him, "Your parents aren't the only ones who are able to teach, you know. You have an entire family of capable wicks."

She attacked the smudge on his face again, this time with her scratchy woolen shawl, jingling as she did, "We are all very close, and we are all committed to raising you children together. It takes a city to raise a child. You could have come to any one of us."

Nic fought against the shawl as she spoke and rubbed at his cheek with his other hand this time. Clean, luckily.

"I guess that is what I am doing now." He mumbled abashedly, scratching at a bug bite he'd gotten.

"Well, then," the frazzle-haired woman straightened, finally releasing Nic's face. She placed her hands on her hips, "If you are asking, then I must propose that you do so properly. Try again."

She looked down at him with a critical eye, as if a wrong word would result in a denial of his request.