She's not as used to it as he might think - the last few months have been a hell of a crash course - but it's true that magic-handling is hardly a foreign concept. It's just something she spent a good fifteen years pretending she couldn't do, until it suddenly became pretty kali vital that she dredge up that part of her heritage.

And then she tries to go back to just baking with maybe a little bit of necessary magic-handling on the side, and this happens. Go figure.

And, okay, wow, this is weird. Given that she's only used sympathetic magic on inanimate objects, she's never really had cause to consider what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of it. Maybe she should have. That curious little prod of his is like a sudden breeze rippling through the leaves of her tree (the sound it makes is not very much like the typical yesssssss, more just a wordless whisper of acknowledgement), and she remembers the snap of a twig, swiveling her ears toward the sound, ready to spring away on four slim legs so superior to her two galumphing human ones...

Yeeeeek. Get it together, Sunshine. She makes a conscious effort to pull herself back into the present, and finds that she's squeezing what's-his-face's hand a bit harder than necessary. Whoops. She loosens her grip, then manages a rather strained, "Well?"