Tavius stared intently at the tome lying open on the table before him and focused all of his power on the incantation scribed there. Slowly, then with growing intensity, the sprig swelled to a sapling and, at length, coalesced into the miniaturized form of, what the volume stated, was a “tree”.
Allowing the summoning to recede back into the pages, he now knew he could recreate this image as a solid, coherent form whenever the Masters informed him the time was right.
He would have much preferred to be with the other Makers, crafting munitions and supplies for the needs of the military, but his mentors seemed to feel his talents were best employed elsewhere.
This story was written for the weekly Five Sentence Fiction flash fiction prompt: wisdom.