The wind through the trees was a springtime song, a lullaby from another world, and the pale, colorless man standing on the edge of the fields could feel life rising anew at the hands of a boy.
The man reached up, blinked briefly-blue eyes, and he smiled. The boy was kneeling, hands cupped around a tender shoot, coaxing it to life. Blue-gold energy poured from the boy’s fingertips, bringing the shoot higher and higher, pushing it toward growth.
Then the boy’s father shouted, and the boy scrambled to obey, and the man knew another healing time had come.
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