“To use fire, you must know fire.”
The crackle of the flame. The flickering tendrils of fire licking hungrily at the air. The warmth radiating from the mass of energy. The burn of its bright light on the eyes.
These were all points he considered, laboured over in his mind as he built up the mental recreation. Fires he had bore witness to across his lifespan came together in an amalgamation of the element, reinforcing the image with the feel, sound and smell of combustion. Sweat tricked down his forehead, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he held the image firmly in his head.
Past scents of smoke came to his nose, smelling as fresh as when the memory was first created. His skin prickled with warmth. Deeper inside, his body tingled with the build up of will. To Spellsay was a complicated affair, given over to many years of practice. What the skilled passed off with ease took years of work to conjure. You had to picture clearly in your mind what it was you wanted to do. And to picture it required experience to fuel the imagination. What you imagined was made manifest by your will. The will required for even the simplest of tasks was monumental. Like a muscle, it grew with training and was hindered by strain.
His body bristled with the charge of willpower, radiating from deep within to infuse his entire being. The last step to releasing it was to say the word. Building an association between word, image and action was the key to quick spellsaying. So he chose his word carefully.
The pieces of wood in the fireplace popped as fire overtook them, soon filling the space with a roaring fire to banish the winter chill.
“You know, I could have just used a match and fire-lighter.” A woman said from behind.
“Practice makes perfect.” A man replied, before a hand was placed on his shoulder. “You did good, Son. That’s a respectable fire. Keep up your studies, and you’ll join me in the force one day.”