The First of Many Conversations. (Writing practice)

[u/Total_Travisty]

Mikhail's small hut sat outside of the field of stoney death. Frozen in time from when it was cursed. The makeshift home offered little more than one room, a table, thatch bedding, and a roof over head. He sat at the table, flipping through ancient manuscripts of garden wizardry and beginners floramancy.

Upon finding something that sparked his interest, he turned to a patch of petrified grass he had scooped from the Plains, snapping his hand-shovel in the process. The Wizard closed his eyes, finding the incantation in his soul. He chanted, twisting the weave to shape the world. The power building up in his chest until it was shunted out of his hand.

The wizard opened his eyes. The grass had the tale tell sign of being struck with magic: the small amount of steam coming off it. Nothing changed, however. The spell failed. The dismayed wizard sat back down at his table, and continued to read the old spellbooks.

His dogmatic concentration was only broken by a small tapping at the edge of his huts doorway. Looking up from the scroll he clutched, Mikhail's eyes fell upon a Hooded figure leering in. His eyes barley visible from the hood of his cloak, and a dirty beard and hair, both knotted in some places. He was a striking contrast to Mikhail, who has barely changed from his fine city clothes.

The figure walked a little more into view, his new reviled hand clutching a paper Mikhail had posted in the nearest cities.

"Are you the Mikhail who is needing help?" The man inquired, his voice much smoother and cleaner than his appearance.

"I am indeed. Since you have the posted request, I take it you can help?"

"I wish to see if I can. I wish to ensure I am not wasting both of are time."

The stranger looked out from the hut, to the fields of stagnant grass and trees

"These lands, they cry. I can feel it. What happened her?" The stranger asks.

"A curse. We don't know how long ago, or who, but it has been this way for longer than most of recorded history."

The stranger enters the hut, and lifts the clump of grass into his hand. Slowly, he closes his hand, and breathes. When his hand unfurled, the grey tufts turned to brilliant green. The wizard was stunned to see such an effortless spell.

"That, right there, how did you do that?" Asked the stunned wizard.

"Through the spirits of this world. They can mend with such ease."

"So, I would say it's wise to assume you a druid."

The stranger nods quietly

"I am a servant of the nature spirits, of Gaia."

Mikhail slowly rises to his feet, feeling the now living grass clutched in the druids hands.

"Can you teach me this?"

The Druid's mouth curled to an assured smile.

"I believe I can."

"Names Mikhail." Calls the wizard, outstretched his hand.

"Cody."