To take to learning a craft as powerful as the one that creates life is such a wonderful thing. Yalin swayed a locket in between his fingers in motions like grass blessed by the morning dew, and sea buckthorns sprouted one by one from their little stems. He rested the same locket upon his altar before midnight, and the next day, a small peony blossomed through the cracks in the wood beneath it, stretching its arms wherever it wanted. Oh, yalin had tried so often to tell the village folk it was no harmful thing, but they had little mind to believe. He himself had started to think perhaps his craft was a curse. Whispers spread all around like wildfire, making his creations seem charred and black. Still, yalin paid it no mind the first time he heard. No matter, he thought; I will just plant more, and eventually the fire will stop spreading. He did not live a prosperous life. One could say this poor man had nothing but a locket and patience. His little hut was far from perfect, and looked the friendliest of all the huts in the village, yet nobody dared to approach it. In fear of, what? Ominous luck? Ghosts? Yalin did not know. So, he swung the locket again. A fresh vine made its way up the pillar of his vendarah and pulled the rotting foundation together in a tight hug that could last decades. It continued to crawl its way around until it reached beyond the hut doors and circled the framed painting on his wall, then it stopped. Ah, Laha? The king he once saved from a dire predicament, and never saw again. His highness never looked away from yalin in fear or disgust. In fact, he never stopped looking at all. Perhaps that was the reason yalin persisted with his craft. Yalin stopped to admire the painting for a while in silent thought. To be honest, he was a little disappointed that the king never showed up again. He looked down at his locket again and traced it with his thumb, thinking. Well, his highness is busy, no? Who had time to stop by and watch an unknown man perform his tricks, with much too much to do? Even more so when it was said to be the work of a malicious spirit? God has chosen the sworn king; he must not touch any corrupt being. Yes, Laha was made of such simple and pure skin. Not once had he drunk, not once had he been strayed by lust, and not once had he stepped on ground that wasn’t made of shimmering gold. If yalin knew no better, he’d say his highness was the prized son of the heavens. Then, what was yalin? He could do anything the king did, and he could do it a hundred times better, but how much would the people appreciate him for it if he still swung a locket in his right hand? Tales would spread far and wide, of the assuming king who ruled the country using dark sorcery over fearful subjects which forboded bad omen every day. That same king would bring back to life withering trees, and the people would still speak ill of his intentions. Yalin became sick trying to will away the criticisms with a patient hand. He spoke gently to reason, but those badmouths were louder, always. Seriously, what use is power if nobody appreciates it?