He pulled threads from his cloak--it was beginning to get frayed at the bottom--and tied the straw into the shape of a small person, perhaps three inches high.  He plucked a hair from one of his eyebrows, set it against the straw figure’s head, then reached into his boot and pulled out a brilliant red scarf.
	Then, Vasher Breathed.
	It flowed out of him, puffing into the air, translucent yet radiant, like the color of oil on water in the sun.  Vasher felt it leave: BioChromatic Breath, scholars called it.  Most people just called it Breath.  Each person had one.  Or, at least, that was how it usually went.  One person, one Breath.
	Vasher had around fifty Breaths, just enough to reach the First Heightening.  Having so few made him feel poor, though many would consider fifty Breaths to be a great treasure. Unfortunately, even Awakening a small figure made from organic material--using a piece of his own body as a focus--drained away some half of his Breaths.
	The little straw figure jerked, sucking in the Breath.  In Vasher’s hand, half of the brilliant red scarf faded to grey.  Vasher leaned down--imagining what he wanted the figure to do--and completed the final step of the process as he gave the Command.
	“Fetch keys,” he said.
	The straw figure stood and raised its single eyebrow toward Vasher.
	Vasher pointed toward the guard room.  From it, he heard sudden shouts of surprise.
	Not much time, he thought.
	[...]
	The straw figure returned to his window.  It carried a large ring of keys.