I sat in our small, forest village, overwhelmed for a moment by a blurred flashing image behind my eyes, shuddering as it fluttered away from me before I could make sense of it.  Things like this happened sometimes; I would have a fleeting vision of things that had happened, were happening, or had yet to happen, or would simply<span style="font-style: italic">know</span>something. Spirit was like that: inconsistent.  Each day my power was a little different.  The only thing that remained the same was the rolling, boiling mass of energy in my chest. It was both dark and light, mixed together, fighting each other inside me.<br/><br/>I swallowed the strangeness of the vision as a small black haired boy stumbled towards me, his eyes wet and red. I looked him over, and saw a long thin gash on his arm. He tried to say something, but it came out as a muffled sob. I smiled at him, and placed a hand over his bloody arm. Energy, white, brilliantly light, and definitely<span style="font-style: italic">good</span>, flowed from my hand and surrounded the wound. It healed instantly, leaving a faint red mark that looked weeks old by normal standards. The boy beamed at me, and hurried away. Just a normal day in the village.