[ She finds something like a kettle and brings it close, opening it up. Ice forms carefully at her fingertips in one hand; the other beckons with fire, allowing for every small bit of ice to take shape, to form, and then to be reduced to water that falls into the kettle. Better than going outside and getting some snow to melt. When she's satisfied that there is enough for two, she begins to heat the kettle with her hands, fire mounting to incredible degrees of heat so she can boil the water while she speaks. ]

What were they like, if you don't mind my asking?

[ With a careful look cast over her shoulder, she regards him solemnly and nods. To be hunted for what you believe, for what you are, is cruel in any world. ]

People fear what they do not understand and what they cannot control. They would rather harness and bind it, shackle it, than attempt to understand it. And those who try to understand and revel in what is there are often persecuted and punished for it.

[ Magic is a wonderful, beautiful, and powerful thing. She is grateful for her gift. Others are not. She reaches into her pack for some herbs to put in the water to steep for tea. And with that done, she can turn back to him with a small smile. ]

I hope that you might. They are interesting races and I am saddened to not know more of their number and to learn from them. But tell me: are there only humans in your world?