Quish sat awkward in the rickety wooden chair, scales glistening by the lantern light in Claire’s wagon. Her fins were drooped as she looked, sullen, across the table at her mentor. Claire closed her eyes a moment, drawing a breath, then nodded inviting the mergirl to speak.

“I…” Quish started, then stopped again. “I… didn’t know.” The gypsy’s steely gaze was making it hard to put together a complete thought.

Another moment passed. It seemed an uncomfortable eternity. Then Claire replied, deliberately choosing her words. “Magic potential manifests differently for different people… Some of my students learn to focus through a familiar or talisman. Others find a connection to elements of nature. Some stumble across emotional, or verbal triggers for their power.”

“But I didn’t know mine would be f-”

Claire’s eyes suddenly grew wide. “DON’T!” she growled, “Dont… say ‘fire’ again.” Quish hushed. Another moment, then Claire stood, motioning at the charred walls. “You may go, but you owe me a new wagon.”