When the last candle dies, only the hand that set it matters. To keep my flame unburned by the wind I shape the air before it even touches the flame—control the gusts, place barriers, make sure the wick stays steady. A strong leader builds the wind into his advantage, not lets it tear him down.

I taste the breath of those I shroud only when it serves my purpose. A solitary flame may never die, but a controlled flame keeps the world in line. I mold the wind, I command the fire, and the rest merely follows.