From the Breath of a Talking Squirrel

Perhaps it was a matter of a confusion between the treat being withheld as punishment and the forbidden thing one is being punished for having, but no matter. I was never taken off punishment, and couldn't remember whether any one thing was inherently bad or instead, that I had once appeared to enjoy it. There was no sense in asking; that only ever made matters worse.
I told you I had only ever written one spell. I had specifically been forbidden from making any of "my magic," but sometimes when one is in the woods, and is approached by a talking squirrel, it seems only civil to hear him out and make a reply. By increments, by the aspiration of another's breath during conversation, and the social necessity suggesting particular pairings of syllables suddenly dangerously close to taboo incantations, some hidden world was sparking. Intentions were there, not fully formed by utterance, nor action.
"Monsieur Squirrel, according to the schedule I have been given, the time is not now."
"Oh, but it is! The time is always now!"
This hadn't been true before, but suddenly made a whole lot of things true. There was a lot to be sorted out.