Witch Dadbur

Wilbur is a witch, witches have familiars, right? Wrong, in his world, familiars are a blessing. Maybe around 5 witches are lucky enough to get one, every year or so. Wilbur had always loved the concept of familiars, and has always been well rehearsed on what types there are, what they could do, such and such.

Even though Wilbur had accepted that he'd probably never get a familiar, a miracle happened. A familiar, just a little one, in his back garden. They had been looking for food, so he went out to give them some. The familiar, who he later dubbed 'Tommy', was incredibly skittish, it looked like they didn't have a very good experience with other witches in the past. Wilbur understood this, some witches out there are pretty cruel, yet he hoped and prayed that they would come back the next day.

And to his delight, they did, and he gave them more food, always trying to coax them closer with each piece of food, though every time he would reach towards them, they would drop the food and run off. Luckily they would always return the next day, like today. It had been a couple weeks so far, he had fed Tommy every day, he even figured out their favourite food. He steps out the door onto his porch, crouching a few feet away from Tommy.

"Spspsp.. hello Tommy, hungry?"

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