Emet-Selch listened with, perhaps, surprising attentiveness as he sketched an approximation of the flower - surprising for those who knew him better anyway. He never really gave off the appearance that he cared about anything beyond his own concerns. For patients he mustered some semblance of care, but he was a healer not a nurse.

Whenever Silco was satisfied with his final drawing, Emet-Selch would lay the paper on the table between them and focus intently for a few seconds. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he brought the concept to life.

(It was a far more complicated procedure than that, involving the visualisation of texture, smell, as well as form and, most importantly, the removal of errant thoughts. But such was Emet-Selch's natural affinity for his native magicks that he made it seem effortless.)

On top of the paper now lay a single flower. It did not possess the properties that Silco desired of it at the moment; Emet-Selch first wanted to be sure that it was outwardly accurate.

"This is not the final product," he cautioned. "Does its appearance satisfy you?"

It was at least a completely faithful rendition of the sketch which had been made.