A little after midmorning on the fifth day since arriving in the Eight Trees, Oliver sat cross-legged on the floor of a little hollow halfway up one of the colossal trees of the village, his eyes squeezed shut.
“Concentrate,” Zarine urged. “Concentrate!”
“I am concentrating.” Oliver could not keep the irritation out of his voice. “I’ve been concentrating. For two blasted hours, since we started.”
“I happen to know for a fact, Ollie-boy,” Zarine said, “that the last fifteen minutes, the only thing you’ve been thinking about is how numb your bum is!”
"Stay out of my thoughts!” Oliver said loudly, his cheeks coloring.
“If you were tapping in my power properly, I wouldn’t be able to hear them at all!”
Oliver sat forward, opened his eyes, and scrubbed his hair furiously with one hand. “Gah! This is stupid!”