Her music sweeps over the fields like springtime rain and brings color to the land. It happens every year after the frost has gone. Seeds awaken to her song and push their way through the soil.
“Good morning,” he called to the flowers and butterflies. He turned his face toward the sky to greet the sun and clouds when something new caught his eye.
“What’s this?” he thought as he a paw up toward a string dangling from the sky…
The masters had warned her of using magic beyond her years, and she’d promised them (again) that she would keep her wand in the classroom. And she had. It rested all night in the cupboard. On a velvet pillow. Beside the wands of her classmates. Behind a golden lock to which only the masters held the key.