The young woman swallowed down the undermined pride. It left a sour trail down her throat. "Yeah, sure, I'll try..." she mumbled and brushed back her hair. The blue of her skin began to fade. She knew it was possible. She had adopted to do it this way because it had simply worked for her. The physical energy had given the magical one the right kick. But they were right. It was pathetic to need that. It lacked the finesse she looked up to in the sorcerers of her family.
"Okay, uhm, I don't know if it's going to work. I am not very good at this." Again, excuses. She scolded herself. It was so frustrating. If she would have been able to grow like she had been supposed to, she would be able to do this by now. She would be able to speak Norse and do more with a stick than fiddling with it like a little child.
She willed her mind to focus, willed the ice to reappear. The color returned. This time she didn't try to gather as much inside of her as possible. She let it escape. A layer of ice formed on her arm the way the frost giants did when they forged their cold weapons. "I'm not quite sure how to make it form something. I can just make it grow bigger. Quantity works, quality doesn't." With the extra of physical energy she was at least able to guide it into a direction. She had no idea how her father did it.