"I don't know." Bert shook his head. "This all happened hundreds and hundreds of years before I was born. I know that when Eld first went in to fix things, there was a mess of resistance, and for a few years the best compromise he could manage was just one charyou tree a year, chosen by lottery, and everybody o'er the age of twelve was put into - man or maid. But once it was exposed it was just one of Maerlyn's plots...well, everybody found their lost senses, I guess." The story did get blurry there, after the death of Gabrielle Deschain.
"Is it? We just call it the Touch. Much easier to say than your mouthful there. Most Gunslingers have at least a bit of it. Ha! You have no idea. I once smuggled a badger into his bedroom, and hid it in his clothes trunk. He managed to work it around so's I got a face-full of angry animal, not him!" They had been how old, then? Twelve, maybe?
"No skill's worth a thing less it's honed and focused," Bert agreed.