[Potironette]

The tribes were scattered far and wide across the lands. Some lived in the forests, some lived in the plains. There were tribes in the blowing deserts and there were tribes in the icy arctics.

Those who lived in the forests would often use their magic to search for deer to hunt and to conjure water to drink. Those who lived in the plains would play often play with the wind. The ones in the deserts conjured miniature clouds from the moisture in the air, and those in the arctics created fires with the snap of a finger.
Those were the days, when people were connected to nature.

But then, things changed. One day, a child was born without magic. Some say his name was Bramble, for the blood splattered leaves of Autumn. Others say, his name was Fallen Leaf, for bringing on the Change. Others still, will say his name was Goat, for being the scapegoat blamed for the natural progression to a magic-less world.

Regardless, the boy was very special. When he was born to the tribe of Blowing Deserts, he was the most ambitious of them all. A fire blazed in his eyes always, despite being the weakest of the entire tribe, and the least in tune with nature.

Kellan flipped through the book some more, his eyes growing distant. It always made him wistful, thinking of how the past changed so drastically to the present.