"Sure." He considered for a moment, then turned to vanish back into the storeroom, coming back with bottle in hand to pour them each another cup. That little diversion also gave him the chance to consider how he was going to explain.

"It's called the Touch," he said, when he was done. "A kind of magic, you could say. I have it a little, too, but with me it's more of... a sense, I guess? Of people, of their feelings and their needs and their wants. A lot of people have it the way I do. Roland," he added, a little wryly, "has absolutely nothing. Which might be why he's quite such an ass. But Alain's something else." He took a mouthful of his wine, leaning up against the table. "He's not a wizard or anything. Which, given the wizards we've known, is something of a relief. But what some of us feel a little, he feels all the time. He can reach out with it, too, direct it, sometimes even hear what people are thinking. He says it comes in flashes. I say if my mind did that, I'd only let it happen in flashes, too."

He pulled a face, looking down into his wine. "There's a lot of stories about it, and I don't really get it. But I guess he's just more attuned to things than the rest of us. Useful for the rest of us, but I can't imagine it's much fun for him."