It slides down the thatched hay and clangs to the ground. Irritated, his kicks up the brown dirt with his worn shoe. I have barely anything to show for it. He claws his hands with rigid tension and stretches them to the sky. He freezes, staring up at the bright sun, waiting.
Clouds slowly drift by.
His energy is spent. He looks down, tired. He slowly picks up his sword, looks down at it in his hands. For the first time in longer than any could remember, the Mage was happy. With a happy shrug He throught about trying His new won powers out.