Xan could remember a time before his capture when he had not needed to keep his talent a secret. In the village which he still considered home, which he had not seen in a ten years, Xan had felt free to explore his abilities without fear. His talent had not made him popular among children his own age, but there had always been a few whose curiosity won out over resentment, and if ever Xan had no one to play with, there were still the animals. Though the undercurrent of fear never quite left his parents' emissions, Xan knew that they were also proud to have such a gifted child. A dornakai elder had even invited Xan to the city once, to see the terran child that so many were calling a natural psionic. Xan levitated a coin for the elder, who had pulsed with delight.

It had all been so long ago, but Xan remembered. Now Xan had to be very careful all the time. For two thirds of his life, Xan had kept his secret. His progress over the past ten years had been slow; having to practice and explore without exposing himself was very difficult. As the years had gone by, Xan learned to do his studying in the fields. His arms knew the weight of the scythe, his body the necessary movements. He could let his awareness expand, spreading out across the fields, enveloping the overseers' lodgings, the slaves' quarters, the manor, the entire plantation. He held it all in his mind, down to the details so small that they would have been invisible to his eyes.

One day, things changed. It was early afternoon, and the boiling red sun beat down on Xan as his muscles carried out motions that they had long ago memorized. In a peripheral way, Xan was aware of the coarse texture of the wood in his hands, and the dull ache in his feet. He was in no way detatched from his body. But his attention encompassed a large sphere, and his flesh was only a small dot at the center. Currently, other dots on the very fringes of his awareness had his interest.