His body was filthy, covered with dirt, scratches and streaks of dried sweat. His lopsided face, wrapped with blood-stained strips of leather, swelled...hideously. The Light-Eye scarcely noticed his condition. Overcome by rage, he acted on instinct, and before anyone knew what was happening, his hand wrapped around the shaman’s throat. People shouted, pulling at his arm, his body, begging him, demanding him to stop, but he neither heard nor saw them. The Spiritwalker rasped, pleading for his life. “Let Student Government address it. If that fails, then we circulate a petition. If THAT fails, then we have a carefully controlled rally.”“And if that gets out of hand?” Angie asked.“We won’t let it,” Melody said. “We do it with proper organization — get permission, use the football field, don’t use placards, and just have a few speakers. Then we walk silently to the admin building, someone gives a short speech from the steps, and then we all go home. We use student marshals to keep everyone. More

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