"If the gods wish to speak to me, they should come to Tar-Domos for an audience," you say, "not summon me like a common servant. Still, it seems there is no other way. Let's get this over with."
Seramet nods in agreement and passes you a leather pouch like the one she holds in her lap, only rather smaller. You open it to find a strange gray dust inside. You feel a little between your fingers; its texture is rough like sand, though perhaps a little finer.
"Throw some into the fire," says Seramet, "and concentrate on the flames."
You do as she asks, pulling out a large handful of the dust and throwing it onto the fire. It ignites in an instant, burning with a greenish light and adding another, deeper note to the smell of the smoke which now moves thickly and sluggishly around the room. As you breathe in some of the smoke's strange aroma, you feel your vision swim slightly, and your movements seem to slow down.
You are now struggling to see Seramet through the smoke, and it sounds like her voice is growing distant and harder to hear. You look around but can scarcely see the wall of the yurt next to you, and when you look back toward the fire, you feel sure that it has moved farther away.
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