The black, pointy-eared satyr stood before him. Under a brow crowned with curled, thick horns, the gold eyes stared back at him. The satyr held up a palm and then pushed it down, motioning for Aparen to close his eyes again. “You must focus your mind,” the satyr said. “Close your eyes and clear yourself of all thought.” Aparen sighed. He closed his eyes and shifted his weight. “I still see nothing,” he said. Whack! Aparen fell over backward and a stinging knot formed on his forehead. His eyes shot open and he pushed himself up to his feet. “What was that for?” he shouted. The satyr made a sound that seemed a mix of a grunt and a bleat. A hand went to his forehead while with the other hand he tapped the gnarled staff on the ground. “Either you are not trying, or you have been so blinded by your hatred that you can not see it.” Aparen rubbed his head and looked around.
What do You think about The Immortal Mystic (Book 5)?
