Marak flicked his wrist towards the target. A bright stream of light shot forth from his hand and streaked towards the vertical log. As the stream of light traveled, it flattened into a disc, and tendrils of light spread out from the center. The mass appeared much like a spinning disc with multiple blades of shiny steel rotating rapidly around the center. The disc struck the log with tremendous force. Chunks of bark and wood splinters flew through the air as the disc sped through the log. It was cleanly sawed in half, and Marak watched in amazement as the top portion of the log toppled over and fell to the ground.

“See how the disc disintegrated after cutting through the log?” smiled Ukaro. “If that was an enemy’s body, it would have continued onward to strike what was behind it. You must learn to gauge the amount of force needed in any given situation. Sometimes you can use the spell to fell multiple foes. Other times you will prefer not to harm what is behind your enemy. You must practice this spell until you learn how to measure the force needed.”

“Amazing,” Marak muttered as he stared at the severed log. “I would not have believed that it would be so simple.”

“It is not simple, son,” replied the Chula shaman. “You have great power. Were you to live with the Chula, you would become a powerful shaman.”

“Like you are,” nodded Marak. “Sometimes I wish for nothing more than to do exactly that. Mother and you are so happy here.”

“We are,” grinned Ukaro, “but your path lies elsewhere, Marak. The Torak cannot walk away from his responsibilities.”

“The Torak,” frowned Marak. “I still do not have a clear idea what the Torak is, or what I am supposed to do.”

Ukaro stared at his son, his split lips pressed tightly together. He absently brushed his golden mane away from his face and suddenly smiled.