The wheat fields rolled like a golden sea, stretching as far as the eye could see.
The meaningless clamor of Silvermoon City also subsided with the end of the harvest season.
"Because every one of them found something to do," Shane maliciously speculated. "They only fight because they've got nothing better to do." But he knew the real reason well enough: the contradiction between a fixed pie of interests and ever-harder-to-satisfy demands for profit. Why were they unwilling to venture out and develop more opportunities? Shane was no king, so there was no point dwelling on it. He had preparations to make for his journey.
"Mentor, we're... we're back."
After crossing the harvested fields, the two apprentices entered the barrier from outside. They carried a wooden staff and set it by the study door before knocking, panting heavily.
They had completed their task well. The wooden staff was material Shane had prepared for his own magic staff, taken from the oldest parasol tree in the Ghostlands. After drying it out, he had placed it atop a relatively safe mountain as a test, sending his two students to retrieve it.
"Go rest first." As he spoke, Shane sensed that his apprentices stood on the verge of advancement. More than a year of accumulated knowledge, combined with six or seven days of trekking over mountains and rivers, had thoroughly drawn out their potential. "You'll receive your rewards later."
"Thank you, Mentor. It's great, but I just want to sleep." The lively Kallinda spoke weakly, while Sashana, unusually enough, agreed with her completely.
"Come find me after you wake up."
The two apprentices bowed and withdrew.
Shane picked up the parasol wood. The instant it touched his palm, a faint numbness from electricity ran through him. The tree had been tempered by lightning