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chest, like a horse thundering across a meadow, Florian ran home.
    ***
    Florian woke the next morning, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, then sat up in bed. He'd almost forgotten what happened the night before. He'd learned magic, and it was so simple. If it worked, he'd go back and visit the caged man again.
    He sat at the table as his mother cooked porridge over the open fire. His father sat to his left, counting his money.
    "We made a fine profit on yesterday's mushrooms, Florian." He father pushed aside one bit. It was the same as always. He kept everything for himself, and only gave Florian enough money to buy a small sweet for himself from the kindly old widow in the market.
    Not today. Florian wanted enough to buy a pastry. One dripping with caramelized cinnamon. His mouth watered. He could almost taste it.
    Florian closed his eyes.
    "What are you doing, boy?" His father asked. "Didn’t you get enough sleep last night? Don't be rude."
    Florian sketched a picture of his father in his mind. The man's thinning gray hair donned a scalp that was showing more skin each year. The hair poking out of the end of his father's nose waved to Florian as he constructed each minute detail. Then he thought it. The thing he wanted.
    Florian's eyes snapped open, and he gazed at his father expectantly.
    "You know, son, you've been working very hard lately. Here's five bits for you. You deserve it." His father pushed the coins toward Florian, and it took everything in him to look surprised as he snatched them with his dirty hand.
    "Thank you, Father!" Florian buried the coins in his pocket before his father could change his mind.
    "Humbert," Florian's mother said, "we need that money to buy flour for bread. We're almost out."
    Florian squeezed his eyes shut again, this time picturing his mother. Her doughy hips and arms moved as she stirred the pot. Her long brown hair was caught in a braid down her back to her waist. Then he thought the words he wanted her to say.
    His mother laughed. "I suppose it doesn't hurt every so often. You're a good son, Florian. Go out and play with the other children."
    "Thanks, Ma." Florian sprang up from the table. He pulled on his boots, then ran out the door before either of them could realize they'd been hoodwinked.
    Florian ran down the street, dirt kicking up under his boots. The town of Trapper's Glen was coming to life with the morning sun. He pulled the hood of his cloak up and over his head, letting the hem sit just above his eyes. It kept out the bulk of the sun, holding his headaches at bay.
    The whoops and hollers of a group of boys traveled over the din of the town folk setting up their booths for the day's market. Florian was tempted to try his new trick on his friends, but his stomach growled, pulling him first to the old woman with the cinnamon pastries.
    Florian closed his eyes, imagining her in his head. Her hair in a messy bun, and her gnarled fingers arranging the pastries on a tray. Her eyes were tired because she'd been up on all night baking for the market. She only set up shop once a week. That was all the money she'd need to buy her own food and supplies for the next week. Florian had spoken with her often. He found her interesting, but he also had yet to collect a secret about her. Someone so old must have secrets buried deep inside. Florian wanted so much to know what they were. Even just one.
    He thought what he wanted her to say, then approached her stall.
    "Why Florian, my dear boy. You're positively wasting away. Here, take one of my pastries. For free. But don't tell anyone, otherwise I'll be flooded with children wanting handouts." She held out a pastry with one shaking hand, offering it to Florian.
    He almost didn't take it, but then decided he deserved it. The woman hadn't told him any of her secrets, and he wanted one so desperately. Florian held her gaze, then, planted the thought in her head.
    She sighed, wiping her brow with her sleeve. "Don't know why I'm thinking of