Zahig took another bite from the stale bread. Even though he could now probably afford to buy fresh cakes from Harim the baker, he couldn't shake the habit of his short lifetime.
He looked at the coins gathered in his cap. A nice haul from an afternoon plying his trade. Entertaining with the art of sleight of hand. Making coins disappear (and reappear in his hat!) cutting the cord on a fat man's trous, sending dancing lights high into the air and scaring the beautiful young ladies with ghostly voices.
It had all become a bit of a routine now. He probably already knew more than his so-called "teacher" Al-Brahim. That old drunk taught him all he knew which wasn't saying much. His vast intelligence devoured books and lore, and he knew what he was really capable of.
His thoughts turned back to the previous night when he had wandered far out of town and climbed the steps of the ruined tower. Surprised by the mangy rogue wolf that jumped out at him, his actions were utterly instinctive. A bolt of psychic power shot, it seemed, from the depths of his mind out through his palm and dropped that sly old wolf before it could so much as open it's jaw.
Tales of adventure rang in his young ears and his stomach rumbled, not from the familiar hunger but another longing. He had no parents, no ties and no future here. He was wasted in this nothing town.
Zahig gathered his possessions and left his life behind.