Ollie closed his eyes and began to speak, his voice carrying across the water in a rhythmic cadence that was part prayer and part command.
"Cypress roots run deep and true,
Through flood and storm, they see us through.
When waters rise, and winds blow cold,
The Cypress stands, steadfast and bold.
It shelters all who seek its shade,
Filled with endurance that never fades."
As the words left his lips, Ollie felt something shift inside him. It wasn't the healing magic yet; he hadn't begun to wield the power that would knit flesh and bone back together. This was something deeper and more fundamental to the nature of a cypress tree. It was a strengthening of his own will and a fortification of his spirit against what was to come. As he spoke the words of his ritual, the mark on his skin began to glow with a faint green light, seeming to grow brighter and more vivid as the magic took hold.
