The water hung, as if suspended by strings (were that possible) in the air above me.
“It’s Knowing Water,” said a voice behind me.
I spun around; facing me stood an old man who had long white hair and beard. He was clad in a silver and black robe and stood, leaning ever so slightly on a staff he held in his right hand. “If you have Magic in your veins, and it touches you, it is the most wondrous thing to have ever felt. But if your veins run dry, and no Magic dwells in you, the touch of the Water will kill you. I do not like intruders.”
He snapped his fingers and the water fell, I did not have time to even scream my last. And then, I had the most wonderful sensation, and when it passed, I stood, still facing the old man.
He smiled, “Good.”