This was his last chance, and so far he had taken three days and achieved nothing. “Just grow will you?” he whined, clenching his fists to dispell the ache which had begun to creep along his fingers. Sighing deeply, and stifling the bitter sound of defeat in his voice, he began to speak to the seed.

“Look, you simply have to grow. I know you could be great and beautiful, if only you would.” he complimented the silent tub of soil. “I can’t be sent home. My father would never let me return.”

He opened his hands once more and relaxed, closing his eyes. He felt for the currents flowing around him and began to gather them in. Calling, in his mind, on the power surrounding and permeating him. He began to push, seeing the tendrils of power reach out for the pot, yet they always slid past it. Some corner of his mind was aware of his teacher approaching, and in a final desperate panic he pushed harder than he had ever pushed before. The power surged from his fingertip and finally made contact with the pot.

“Wow!”