The birthright of another, in truth a part of Odin's son's very being, is not easily harnessed by another. Perhaps it is like being a baby, at first, unaware that the little hands one keeps seeing in your visual field, belong to you. Their minds mystically linked by this enchanted hammer, the power flowing from some place beyond understanding, Bill does not take command of the elements for her. An artist, his student's hand holding a paintbrush on a canvas: instead, he places his mind's hand on hers, and moves it ever so gently. It's right there for her.

In the world, far away, the clouds stir. A faint jolt jumps between them, coaxed by Verity's command.