Dael kept his head down, worked sunup to sundown, humming songs from his childhood and doing his best to remember what Da and Cerdic had taught him, using his talent when things seemed rough.
Ever since he was a small boy, he’d had the touch, the sparks of blue and gold at his fingertips that repaired a butterfly’s wing, that saved a dying apple tree. Everyone in the village knew of it, but none mentioned it, so long as he used it for good.
If he focused on the farm, he didn’t have time to worry about Da and Cerdic.
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