Anala’s cheeks bloomed as red as roses as her hands snuck to her back, hoping it would not be there; but it was. Her throat clenched breath as she felt a familiar bushy tail protruding from the base of her spine, peeking out beneath her cloak. She squirmed with humiliation, remembering boasting to her uncle at how she much she deserved a higher rank on the registry. Now she looked like an amateur.
As quick as she could, Anala withdrew her wand from her boot as they stepped quietly onto the house’s creaking veranda. It was a branch plucked from the cottonwood tree at their old estate, painted silver and decorated with jewels at the centres of its small knots. Twisting her arm, she pointed it to her back and sternly muttered her spell.
“Alevē srel.” The air prickled with magick, but her tail only flapped excitedly. She tried again and again until the sensors returned a shock up her casting arm, her muscles tensed like pulled wire.
Her uncle turned to her. “Try ekeré srel,” he said, knocking thrice on the front door with a knocker shaped like a flattened frog,
But as she did so, her tail lighting like a candle and disintegrating, the front door opened. Peeking through the crack was a short, podgy woman who was barely a woman at all. The line of moonlight reflected off of her quivering, moist lip and dark, bulbous eyes. Her back was hunched partially above her neck, and weedy grey hair fell around her smudged, scratched and sunken face. Her eyes almost popped from their sockets as she witnessed the magick, stumbling back and slamming the door with a force that almost unhinged the structure above them. On the other side, they heard murmurs, locks bolting and then footsteps scurrying away into the distance.