Silas thought that every child was instructed in Biblical stories, while not all might have a tutor like he did there were still Sunday Schools for those less fortunate. No one should be as old as they were and still be unfamiliar with the more famous prophets. His jaw loosened as he stared agape at a girl who hadn't bothered to listen to her lessons, but only for a moment as he worked out just how to answer her. "Samuel was a Prophet, and one I'd suppose had many friends, but one very important Friend in particular."
Alys, as her name was, seemed quite well versed in Hebrew and the remarkable natures of woods, so perhaps she wasn't all that neglectful of her lessons after all. More forgetful, or studious of other things, he reasoned to himself. The boy let his attention drift to the boxes in front of him, neither of which contained a wand with such inscriptions as appeared on the one of the girl's choosing. Or had the wand chosen her instead? For the second time, Mr. Fabius made mention of something that gave him pause, leaving Silas wondering if he had truly walked into a shop or some other realm entirely.
Listen, he told himself. Both wands in front of him appeared similar at first glance. Both slender rods carved of wood, which might look unremarkable on shelves in a shop such as this, but quite handsome on a shelf at home. Silas was still unfamiliar enough to know entirely how the wand might assist him, though it appeared instrumental to the miracles —the magic— that the professor had demonstrated for him. Would his choosing allow him access to some, and not others? Would it matter at all beyond mere decoration?
"Speak, your servant is listening," Silas said to the wands, feeling a bit silly to be doing so. His words had to be louder than a whisper to direct them to both boxes, though he didn't look up to see if the others had taken notice. He could be like Grandfather, sure of his actions, because they were his right. His divine right, as the professor informed him. There was no reason not to believe it, not when he stood witness to such miracles before his eyes, or a girl who might have the same gift as Samuel. Here, Silas was among the Chosen, and now he need only choose.
Picking up the first felt about as much as the last wand in his hands. Silas held it out in front of him, shaking out the cuff of his sleeve as if it might joggle the wand properly. With a shake of his head, hearing nothing at all, the wand was returned to its box. Silas did the same to the next, and immediately something felt different about this wand. It was ash, like the wood from the tree Papa had to take down last year, and the wound carvings in the handle felt like little ropes under his fingers.
Something made him clear his throat, and with it the lordling's son felt a glimmer of power. As if the room itself had taken notice of him, and if he spoke all might listen. His blue eyes sought out the shop clerk, and Silas gave him an assertive nod like he'd seen Grandfather do a hundred times before. After a moment of uncertain silence, he added, "This one, if you please."
"Ahh, so its fellow was right to come along after all. I am most pleased by your choice, this one was quite particular about what kind of wizard, or witch if you will, would satisfy it," Mr. Fabius told him, snatching back the other box without question. "That it chose you is high praise indeed, Mr. Merlion. Now, let us sort out the unpleasantness of money and let you both be on your way. You'll have many more things to acquire before you return home, no doubt."
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