9

You're never in one place for too long when you're in the forest. You're always finding your way to new places, whether it's following a long stream or climbing the highest tree, and you're pushing your body further and further every day. There's no other place like it for improving yourself, as long as you take care.

Now—standing in the narrow, dusty hallway—you think about something your grandma used to say: that she never feels really comfortable unless there are more trees than people around. Maybe you can't blame her—after all, how do you feel?

Honestly, you and Grandma have a lot in common when it comes to people. But then, it's not like you can go back to—

Without warning, a clattering crash makes you jump almost out of your skin and lands you back in the present. You whip your head around, expecting to find an avalanche of cardboard boxes—but then you catch sight of the curtain, swinging slightly, as if touched by a light breeze.

Of course. It's not just you in the house. You must have missed your Familiar slipping past you as you made your spectacular entrance.

As your grandma often tells you, your magic is drawn from the natural world, and so to have an animal as a magical companion only makes sense. In reality, a Familiar is more like a physical manifestation of your own magic than an ordinary animal, according to your Grandma—and so by taking care of a Familiar, you're really taking care of your own magic. A Familiar can even very easily take the form of an animal you wouldn't (and shouldn't) have as a pet—which is why it's important to remember the difference. Your Familiar is part of you as much as it is its own being.

It's no coincidence, then, that a Witch's Familiar often shares some of the Witch's own personality traits. Your grandma's Familiar—a dark-feathered crow named Carys—shares her quiet nature, as well as her sharp eye. In the same way, you often find that you can see a lot of yourself in your Familiar.

But that doesn't stop her from being a pain in the ass sometimes.

Sighing, you turn with some apprehension towards the curtain, which is now hanging perfectly still. You have a feeling that isn't a good sign.

"Everything all right in there?"

No response. Even worse.

Gritting your teeth, dreading whatever sight is going to greet you, you venture forwards—and with a deep breath, you take hold of the curtain.

It's surprisingly heavy—immediately, dust flies off the thick fabric—but after a second you have it drawn to one side, exposing the dimly lit room behind it.

It takes you a moment to spot your Familiar. When you do, all you see at first is a pair of eyes glinting out of the dark.

Turning on the light, you're met by the sight of: