"Focus."
"I know, I-"
"FOCUS."
"Ngh..." He grunts, dismissing the voice in his head. He takes a breath and sighs, looking around. It was a cool Summer night; the crickets were chirping, the stars were out, and people were still out and about even at this night hour. The park, though, was rather quiet; most people seemed to avoid it, what with the lack of lighting outside of the path. However, the moon was out, leaving the clearing lit in soft white light.
Drowning it out in Alex's emerald eyes, though, was the glow of his phone's screen. He stared at it intently, using his thumb to flip through a document. Images of old. Yellowed pages in archaic languages flipped by with each swipe of his thumb, the thirteen-year-old raccoon's eyes darting over each page as he quietly mouths the words. As he reads, hiseyes, thumb, and tongue begin to move faster - unnaturally so, as if the words desired to be uttered. His right hand's fingers twitch, but do not drop the pouch in his grasp; instead, his thumb begins to snake under the knot that cinched it shut. He tugs it loose, and holds his arm out, moving it in a circular motion over the ground, pouring out a sand-like powder. He continues, drawing out segments and symbols, not stopping until every grain was upon the ground.
A word of power and a flash of balefire later, and it was done. Alex crouches into a kneeling position, inspecting his handiwork. The smoke wafted away, dancing unnaturally in the wind to reveal the grass - charred to the point where it hid the nature of the circle. In the center, there once laid a carcass of unknown origin - a car having killed the creature, which was then ravaged by time. Now, though...it stood once more, though shakily - and quite devoid of any cuddly features it may have had before. Sharp protrusions from it's spine with flesh draped between - much like a fish's fin; teeth elongated and pointed outwards, much like the mouth of a venus flytrap; shattered bone re-knitting before one's eyes, the visibly rotten remnants of the flesh and entrails mummifying, shriveling and adhering to the skeleton. It stumbled about, blue balefire in it's eyesockets, mouth, and the gashes rent in it's flesh.
The adolescent procyon watched in combined astonishment, awe, and terror; the dead walked for the first time in millenia, all under his command. It walked - only to collapse under it's own weight. The balefire puffed outwards and extinguished, the leathery flesh crumbling to dust, the bones cracking and splintering into a rotten pile. Nevertheless, the ritual had proven a point to Alex - the world was not as it seemed...
