Freya awoke in the sitting room. Looking down, a trail of mud led to where her boots were placed unceremoniously in front of the window. Her head was a mess of ringing and she was laying back on the long couch next to the hearth.

Grandpaw sat over her, watching as her eyes fluttered open.

“Ah! She’s back Beatrice,” he said. His soft voice was a gentle lullaby to her ears. She didn’t recall anything else.

“*What is going on?” Freya said weakly.

“Well,” Grandpaw said, looking between her and Old Gran.

“It seems that you’ve overextended yourself dear,” Old Gran’s voice sounded like sugar as she appeared next to Freya.

Her gray shawl wrapped around her shoulders as she examined Freya.

“I think… We need to have a talk,” she said. “Freya, it’s becoming more and more apparent that you’re talented. More talented than your mother and probably much more talented than me. I don’t know what that is going to mean for you yet, but now that you’re of age and you’re tapping into the source you need to understand what you’re doing or you could pull too much.”

Freya sat bolt upright.

“Abigail!”

“She will be fine, Freya. We need to talk about what you’re doing with the chickens.” Old Grans whiskers dropped low as she lowered Freya back to sitting on the couch.

Woda took this moment to shove a pile of sweet rolls into Freya's face. The warm sweet taste made her mouth water. The balanced aftertaste of the rolls gave the impression of spicy and nutty tones.

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“What you’ve been doing, the power you’ve been using, the druids call that power red mist. The source of your magical power rejuvenates itself regularly and as you grow in the power, you will become stronger as I believe you already have. When you started, do you remember how long you could talk and make the connection with the chickens?”

Freya thought for a second.

“It wasn’t long, maybe ten minutes?” she said.

“And you probably had enough stored up energy to do that once, but because you grew in your connection to the power, you were able to tap into more of your own red mist. Now you can expend more than your body can give out if you try hard enough and you’ve just shown that you can use too much and faint. If you were in a compromising position, this could be enough for you to die.”

Woda nodded, “You need to learn how to control your power, how to shape it so that this doesn’t happen.”

Old Gran watched as Woda held one of her paws, then one of Freya’s.

“How will I know? If I’m using too much I mean?” Freya said, all at once realizing the tray of sweet rolls was currently empty. Her stomach gurgled.

“You’ve got to understand it, you’ve got to feel it and you’ve been going, going, going like a mad mouse for two weeks now. Have you taken a moment to just sit and feel yourself?” Old Gran said. “Let’s do a short breathing exercise, and maybe that will help. I may be weak in the power, but I remember those as I had to do them hundreds of times.”

Old Gran sat cross legged in front of Freya, beckoning the young mouse to sit next to her. Freya complied, feeling out the aches in her back and knees. Those were new. Freya watched as Old Gran closed her eyes and she did the same.

“As you breathe in for a slow four count, think about the place that you went when you drew upon the power before.” Old Gran’s words were a warm stream over the rocks over her consciousness.

For a minute, Freya slowed her breath to match Old Gran’s.

She listened to the slow pattern, aligning her breath to it.

In-two-three-four.

Another minute passed.

Old Grans gentle voice broke the calm breath pattern

“There is a place, where the source of your power comes from, it is a well inside of you,” she intoned. “I am going to try to touch my source, which although mine is weak, it should seem like a beacon to you. Reach out, but keep your eyes closed. When you feel it, open your eyes.”

Freya paused her breath pattern as she concentrated. Was the source moving? She felt something in front of her. She could feel well; she felt like she was full, but she felt ready for action. Her whiskers perked up, ears

There.

Her hand reached out and her eyes shot open as she looked at Old Gran. A tiny hint of red hue saturated her fur, and Freya gasped.

“You changed your coloring!” she said. Her whiskers stood nearly straight up.

Old Gran chuckled, then breathed out and the red hue faded into a mist and floated up and off of her.

“That wasn’t my coloring, it was me tapping into the source.” Old Gran smiled. “Although I can barely draw enough of my own power to light a candle, I did practice those shaping exercises forever. You need to practice this for a long time to shape what you are doing and in time you’ll understand what you can do, and maybe you can grow.”

Freya saw a cup of water that Grandpaw had brought in and accepted it without question.

“You’ve got to make sure that you can be safe with it, so I think that your grandfather needs to bring in someone to teach you the things I cannot, at least until the end of the winter equinox where the druids open up their ranks to applicants.”

Old Gran made it sound like more of a command than a demand.