Tail swishing back and forth, eyes closed, Tarrin kept his paws on the table and tried to remain in a meditative state. It wasn't easy, because he was still internally celebrating what he felt to be his independence from the Tower. He kept wanting to jump up and down, but he knew that it was imperative that he keep his elation to himself. Keritanima's plan depended on him looking unhappy, and it would ruin it. It was a good plan, and he wasn't about to destroy it. Dolanna's breathing kept anchoring him to reality, and her scent of ivory and lavender and silk soothed his jittery consciousness. Her scent had slowly begun to have that effect on him; her very presence was usually enough to take the raw edge off his nerves. Tarrin noticed it after Jesmind left, and he had the growing suspicion that his subconscious, his immature Cat mind-he was only a cub, after all-was seeking a replacement for a mother figure. With his own mother out in the city, temporarily distanced from him, Dolanna came the closest to that role. So he was starting to react to her differently than before.

He was much calmer now. A night spent in sleepless joy had mellowed into a simple feeling of contentment, though if he thought about it too long he would get worked up again. That helped him focus on what he was doing a bit more, and the Weave was out there. He could feel it. He raised his chin and reached out with all his senses, reaching to make contact with the Weave. Thoughts and memories were centered on the Weave. Memories of the feeling of drawing in, and the fragmented memory of the only time he had ever managed to use Sorcery, were working with his active attempts, trying to shape his reaching out to seem to fit in with the memories of Sorcery he held inside. There had to be a middle ground there, and that was where he thought he'd finally manage to make a touch on the Weave. He had to push out and draw in at the same time, he reasoned. That seemed illogical, but he had noticed that logic rarely had a leg to stand on where magic was concerned.

Realigning his thinking, he bowed his head and emptied out his mind, then took a crack at it. At first, it made him seem further away from the Weave, but then he began to feel it on the edges of his awareness. He tried to reach out and draw in at the same time, directing his attempts at the feeling of warmth and pulsating, heart-beat like throbbing that surrounded him. It tantalized him, staying right where he could sense it but just out of reach, and his serenity slowly began to erode into aggravation. He began to rise up out of his chair, eyes opening and lit from within with that almost glowing radiance that meant he was angry.

"Calmly," Dolanna said in a soothing voice. "Do not work yourself up, Tarrin."

Blowing out his breath, Tarrin sat back down. Waiting for something to happen was getting to him, and his good mood quickly disintigrated into something more unfriendly.

"I could feel you more active with the Weave before you lost yourself," Dolanna told him in a calming voice. "Whatever you were doing, continue. Maybe it will be what you need to succeed."

Nodding, panting a bit, Tarrin bowed his head and closed his eyes-

– closing his eyes. No wonder. Smacking himself on the head with a paw, he groaned in dismay.

"What is it, dear one?" Dolanna asked curiously.

Opening his eyes, Tarrin reached out while trying to draw in, focusing his eyes where he could sense the energy of the Weave. The strand slowly wavered into a phantasmic form before his eyes, and he felt himself make contact with it. The sudden influx of power into him felt like the glory of a god. It was warm, tingling, and it filled him like a vessel, saturating his body with a feeling that came close to rapture.

"Tarrin!" Dolanna gasped. "You did it!"

"I did it," he said, trying to both ignore and revel in the sensation at the same time. The strands in the room became visible to him as wavering, ghostly tendrils, and he could feel the pulsating power of the Weave, almost like a heartbeat, roaring through him. And it was building up. He wasn't drawing it in anymore, but it was still flooding into him, and that pleasure was starting to turn into pain. "Now how do I let go of it?"

"Cut yourself off, dear one!" she said quickly. "You are building up too much power!"

"I'm not doing anything!" he objected, feeling the pulsating like a hammer to the back of his skull.

Dolanna's body seemed to shimmer, and then he realized that she had touched the Weave. He felt something sever his connection to the Weave like a knife, and then the power inside simply bled away, leaving him feeling cold and strangely empty. It also left a sharp headache, but the pain in his head began to fade almost as quickly as the power had.

"Tarrin, when you make contact with the Weave, you must resist it," she told him. "It will try to fill you, for it will see you as a part of the Weave, and as I said, the magical energy always follows the path of least resistance."

"Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"Because most students are not so in tune with the Weave," she said, pursing her lips. "Your raw power must make me change my methods, I see. You are so strong, the Weave tried to fill you in a flood. For most Initiates, it takes hours to build up so much magic. It will trickle into them, usually without them noticing it. But your power gives you the ability to instantly gather up enough energy to work. That is something that we usually have to teach to our students."

"Why did it start to hurt?"

"Our bodies are fragile, young one," she said. "They were never made to withstand so much power. That pain you felt is what happens when a Sorcerer attempts to do something beyond his ability. If I had not cut you off, the energy would have built up, and the pain become worse, until it would have destroyed you."

Tarrin blinked. "Consumed?"

She nodded. "Let us calm down, then try again. This time, when you feel the Weave connect to you, hold it at bay. You must allow it in and push it away at the same time. The balance of them is what will determine how much energy you allow to fill you." He nodded, remembering that he used the trick of reaching out and pulling in at the same time to make the connection. It was only logical, in the illogical sense of Sorcery, to have to draw in and push out at the same time to resist the flood of the magic. "Why were you so angry before?"

"I've been sitting here for four days fighting to touch the Weave, and I was doing it with my eyes closed," he said in disgust.

Dolanna considered it for a moment, then she laughed wryly. "You are too grounded in your senses," she realized. "Unless you could see what you were reaching for, you would fail. Your Were nature makes it difficult for you to work with anything that you can't experience with your natural senses, and the Sorcerer's unnatural sense dealing with the Weave is unfamiliar to it."

He nodded sourly. "Four days of aggravation for nothing," he growled. "I should have realized that closing my eyes was stopping me."

"You are still growing into your Were nature, my dear one," she said gently. "You still have much to learn. Do not kick yourself for things that you cannot know easily. But you should feel happy that you have done it," she told him, patting him on the shoulder. "Four days is very quick for an Initiate's first touching."

"I'd be happier if I didn't feel like an idiot," he grunted.

She chuckled. "As they say, the man who looks behind can see all, where the man who looks ahead only sees the bend in the road."

He blew out his breath, then finally managed to give a rueful chuckle. "Yes, well, it doesn't help," he told her.

"We still have a few hours, my dear one," she said, sitting back down. "Let us practice on touching the Weave. As you know, just one time is not enough to make it automatic. It is a learned skill, like any other. Once you make a touch, we will work on keeping your touch without losing control of it. We will also work on letting go. Your raw power will make that a vital lesson."