There were days when his magic crawled under his skin like a plague of tiny insects, desperate to be freed. On such days, he would escape the castle, go deep into the forest, shed his clothes and just let it the storm come.

Thunder and lightening, rain and wind. The magic burning beneath his naked flesh reached out to them and he rejoyced at the raw and elemental feel of it.

He was linked to the elements somehow, part of them, part of nature, and they were part of him. He could no more stop this, than stop his own heart beating.

The making of 'Eye of the Storm'

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