[ Combat, potential spy. Yet Remus resembles something worn and favored, like an old pair of gloves or a coat that's grown too small for broadening shoulders but still smells like something nostalgic and loved, rather than something capable of putting up a fight. But the hum, the pulse of his thoughts - distant and muted as they are, they tell the truth of the matter. He finds, in that regard, he could respect such a man. A teacher, of students - children. Children with magic, especially. ]
I am. Some would refer to it as witchcraft, but it was simply a science. The Small Science, we called it.
[ The image of hands. Fire brandished. Storms called. Metals molded. The usual suspects. ]
no subject
I am. Some would refer to it as witchcraft, but it was simply a science. The Small Science, we called it.
[ The image of hands. Fire brandished. Storms called. Metals molded. The usual suspects. ]