Package of Raisin

Wishful Thinking

"I can't help you. Raisin is it? You're too old for this sort of thing. My advice is to go on home."

Raisin tried to straighten defiantly, but the effort cost him a grimace, for he no longer straightened easily.

"Thank you, but I didn't come for advice. I wish to join the war."

The wizard took his nose out of his book and looked hard at Raisin, sizing him up. He considered the conversation branching out before him, weighing which path might prove shortest and least unpleasant. He sighed in the face of a trackless bog.

"It's never my practice to judge a fellow mage by his staff," he began charitably, "but seeing as how you don't seem to have one..."

"Er, yes, I'll have to get meself a new stick that's true."

"And perhaps your school-" the wizard paused, turning an ear to Raisin in case he should mention a history at one of the larger schools. "Perhaps your training is different than what I'm accustomed to, but surely you don't work without a familiar?" The wizard's own owl chose that moment to preen itself importantly.

"Well now, I haven't called one just yet..."

"Ah, I see, hmm."

Raisin's heart wavered, but rallied at a sudden snap of the wizard's fingers.

"Your spellbook then! Not to pry, but if you could give me some idea of its contents--your specialty, as it were--and maybe a peek at the book itself...? Just the cover..., if you could?"

Raisin felt very small and shrunken. The wizard slumped his shoulders. He wanted to help Raisin, truly, but he was defeated. He shrugged, and the difficulty of the old gnome slid away like an unpleasant weight. His nose was back in his book before Raisin closed the door on his chamber.