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[corporeity]

[ It's a fascinating thing, to witness another cast, particularly when they've learned so differently from yourself. For Gale, magic is as simple as breathing, as thinking, as talking. With a hushed word and flick of his wrist, his question is answered, an enchantment born of a brew, so potent the mere thought of it tempts the orb.

In contrast, the ceremony of Matt's endeavour intrigues, seemingly complex for being different from his own approach. Indeed, Gale watches Matt venture elsewhere, eyes vacant, then brilliant green — perhaps this is the way of it, for one whose body is vital to the casting, an invariable physical component, a ceding of one's person to the spell. Fascinating, to be sure. Gale finds he does not envy him, having already given so much of himself over to magic, to Mystra. ]

Are you quite all right?

[semicharmed]

[ It's outside, Matt's about to blurt--which would be pretty cryptic, so it's probably for the best that Gale's question breaks across his thoughts like a pebble to the surface of a pond. ]

I'm great, [ he says, sincerely. It seems to be true: Matt's got a bit of a bounce in his bearing, a light in his eyes that comes not from any mystical plant communion, but the exhilaration of spellcasting. It falls somewhere between the neat pleasure of solving a puzzle--things fitting into other things--and the awe of prayer.

Just as his own ritual strikes Gale as complex, there's only a handful of spells Matt knows how to cast as quickly as Gale can. So he's slightly uncertain as he adds, ] Did you do your thing? I wasn't supposed to wait for you, was I ...? [ A sheepish smile. ] What'd you learn?