Now, Bren was twelve.
Giddily dancing by oneself was silly and immature and, well, he was no longer certain that his father's brief reappearances were reason enough to celebrate anymore. He had runes to practice, grown-up magic to perform, and Twiz to take care of. His father always said he wanted to hear about the things Mother was teaching him, but whenever Brenley tried to talk about them, the gryphon's eyes glazed over and he fell back to his old conversational standby: asking if Bren wanted to "throw the ball around." Maybe this time he could enchant the ball to explode.
As soon as his father's truck tripped the security enchantments at the end of the sandy road that led to their house, his mother began her fretting. She swiped a damp cloth over tabletops and mantles even though they were already spotless, straightened her immaculate dress, and ran her fingers through Bren's hair, earning her an exasperated sigh.
"I look the same as always, mother. Surely father will not be scandalized if one or two hairs are out of place."
When his father finally did arrive, however, Brenley had to wonder if he had changed drastically after all. Davis Quinn had always seemed impossibly large, his wide wings and warm eyes all Bren could focus on when they stood in close proximity. He had always looked up to his father quite literally, and even then he hadn't been able to take him all in. He still had to look up this time, but it was not nearly as far or as high as he once had. The last time the gryphon had pulled him into a hug, Bren had barely cleared his father's waist. Now he was smothered somewhere in the mid-stomach area.
"You're shooting up, kid!" Davis confirmed, stepping back.
"Oh, shush," his mother scolded. "You'll just make him feel self conscious."
She was right. Brenley was internally squirming before the admonishment was even out of her mouth. It was strange how well she knew him and still chose to cause him such discomfort herself.
"Sorry, sorry," Davis said, a proud grin stretched across his lips as he clapped Bren on the back. "I'm just glad to see my boy doing so well." The words without me seemed to hang in the silence that followed. Brenley heard them loud and clear, but in an uncharacteristic moment of constructed fondness and forced warmth, he chose to ignore them.
"Father? Do you think you'd like to... throw the ball around?"
- - -
It was a casketball this time, a new blue and white one that smelled of rubber. The third time it changed hands, his father spoke.
"So, how've you been? Learned any new spells? Taught the dog to talk?"
Brenley smiled faintly as he looked down at the ball. "Twiz still remains unable to speak, sadly, but I did pick up several helpful variations on old enchantments since you were last here." He traced a simple, one-use rune on the surface of the ball, the quickest one he had ever drawn, and tossed it back, whispering its name as it landed in his father's hands.
The change was instantaneous. Davis's arms stretched toward the ground under its unexpected weight, and the expression on his father's face coupled with his suddenly swimming head drew a giggle from Brenley. The boil stumbled, intending to say something impressive about the limited practicality of reversing floating charms, but all he managed to do was pass out from overexertion instead.