“Then I will make my camp outside your house,” she answers. “And I will serve you in whatever ways I can until you change your mind. I will be as an apprentice would be, paying for his lessons. I will split wood for your fire, I will weed your garden, I will carry you fresh water from the stream every day by my own hands—by my own sweat and labor—and not use witchery to do those things, even though I probably could, until you agree to teach me how to use the power without dying. And every day you’ll see me labor for you, and you will know in your heart that I won’t ever give up on you, and in the end you’ll teach me what I wish to know.”

The diamond eyes sparkle defiantly.

Slowly he draws himself up to his full height, many a handspan over hers. Then he turns away from her. No smaller footsteps follow, nor is protest voiced. Good. He goes to the place where his tools are and chooses a heavy ax, one that only a large man might wield comfortably, and returns to the door. She is still waiting. Silently. Good.

He drops the ax at her feet, head first.

“Woodpile’s in the back,” he tells her.

Her foot is no longer blocking the door. He shuts it and returns to his desk. Turning up the wick on his reading lamp, he opens up the next scroll of Chantoni writing, pinning its corners down with river stones.

He does not start reading again until he hears the sound of wood splitting.