[ She nods, watching Clara carefully, judging her. She has been paid for this, given a prize that she must treasure, and she is not tender as she shifts, reaching out to nudge her arm up using her own elbow; she doesn't touch, she never touches, even with her gloves over her skin. It's to urge the finger up so she can judge, so she can see it move, eyes drawn to it.

The girl is a fast learner, accepting what she must in order to use magic. Something like pride but far less kind settles inside of Lauralae and she nods her head, lifting her arm again. This time she does nothing more than draw her sleeve back, pulling out a knife and drawing her own blood, to show, to teach and educate. ]

You can reach out with it. Your magic is not trapped inside of you; you can use it to move, to press, to pull, and you must try. It may not be trapped only in runes.