“Kieeer.”

Medes bolted through the doorless entrance to Kier’s newly formed home. The owl flew straight and crashed on the mage’s face as he was taking a spoonful of a brown muck to his mouth.

“Kieeer!” screamed Medes again, his wings fluttering maniacally, as Kier set him on the table.

“What?”

“Were you really just going to put that in your mouth?”

“Uh, sure I-I magicked it up.”

“I know you did. I’ve tried it. Tastes horrible.”

“Yeah.” Kier reflected. “I know. Thanks for stopping me.”

“Kieeer.”

“What?”

“There’s another familiar.”