Ali crossed through the reclaimed door-gate she and Sig had been working on. Once on the other side, her mukluks sank a fraction into the damp, peaty turf. She closed her eyes and raised her nose. Her ears flicked and swiveled, listening to the soft drone of insects and frogs. Her whiskers and nose twitched as she sorted through the smells now so clear to her—the peat, brackish water, mushrooms, old camp smoke. She smiled, So much that I remember, with so much more now. She looked over her shoulder as the door swung closed—a muted burst of mana glowing as the portal sealed—and nodded once.

She looked at the packed, raised dirt trail—the shaky connection between the bayou and the start of civilization—the small community of Gheens. Shuddering slightly, she turned and followed the trail, heading deeper into the wild. As she went, she let her fingers brush the trunks of the old cypress trees, memories of climbing and playing among them. Her tails fluffed under her travelling cloak, swaying in time with her stride and her memories. Ten minutes later the trail opened on the clearing around the Treneaux homestead.

She looked at the packed, raised dirt trail—the shaky connection between the bayou and the start of civilization—the small community of Gheens. Shuddering slightly, she turned and followed the trail, heading deeper into the wild. As she went, she let her fingers brush the trunks of the old cypress trees, memories of climbing and playing among them. Her tails fluffed under her travelling cloak, swaying in time with her stride and her memories. Ten minutes later the trail opened on the clearing around the Treneaux homestead. 

Once on the porch she scanned the clearing. Her head tilted and she listened—the quiet was off. It reminded her of some days in her youth, but there was a new depth to it. She let her eyes drift out of focus, the tell of amber motes dancing across their surface. The effect of her manipulating mana for detection and categorization. She started to pick out new features in the clearing. Two ley lines intersecting in the front yard, not at right angles but with the oblique pair aligning with Gheens. Three faint warding circles, traced with remnants of black coils from voodoo. Her ears dropped. This is old, it feels like the circles were laid in the nineteenth century.

Something tugged at her subconscious, something felt but not seen. Under her hood, her ears folded back against her skull. She stepped backwards, deeper onto the porch, her tails stilling. As she turned to the front door, she gently drew mana from the node at the crossing of the ley lines. Caution, swamp fox. Li’l more tools, li’l more prep. Under her cloak she fished a key from her dimensional pocket, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.