He knelt behind the shed, the pile of kindling before him, and stretched out one hand. Then he closed his eyes and thought as hard as he could.
Light!
Nothing.
Ciaran opened one eye.
Light!
Not a spark.
He reached out and poked the kindling experimentally. It was dry enough, wasn’t it? And he was doing exactly what he’d been doing in Brenna’s cave, right?
Come on, light! he thought.
Not even a puff of smoke.
Ciaran waved his hand fiercely at the kindling. Light already!
No reaction from the kindling.
Ciaran sat back, miffed. Maybe he’d just imagined it?
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