He sat cross-legged in the grass. His knees complained only a little, which, given his age, was remarkable. Briefly closing his eyes, he summoned frost on the grass to encircle him. The flames that most used for such a ritual had always eluded him, but the frost was an adequate substitute, and a more appropriate one at that.
The sun was setting on his left as he drew forth a small bag from the folds of his robe. With a practiced gesture, he cast the runes on the ground in front of him. Closing his eyes so as to better feel them, he passed his hand slowly over the spot they lay.
But they weren’t there. He opened his eyes in surprise, and saw the stones right where he had cast them. He simply couldn’t feel their magic. They were inert. Quickly gathering the stones and placing them back in the bag, he cast them again. Once more, they were invisible to him.
Closing his eyes once more, he summoned a blizzard. When he looked, only a handful of snowflakes fell before giving up entirely. The frost making up the circle had already begun to melt.
The magic was still inside him; he could feel it. But he couldn’t access it, as if it were sealed behind a barrier. A sense of vulnerability began to overwhelm him. Nothing like this had ever happened to him. To any mage, as far as he knew. There must be some solution, but until he found it, he couldn’t count on magic to save him.