Floating Sparky

The flour mist, thick as a summer fog, slowly began to thin. Scotty coughed, waving a paw in front of his snout, his eyes watering just a little from the unexpected puff. He’d been so sure that *this* time, with the extra pinch of giggling herbs and a sprinkle of stardust, the cake batter would finally appear. Instead, he had a kitchen that looked like a blizzard had decided to have a party, and a very dusty puppy friend.

He peered into the cauldron, his tail giving a hopeful little thump against the leg of his workbench. It was… empty. Well, not entirely empty. There was a faint shimmer, like heat rising from a summer road, and a smell that was vaguely like… bubblegum and old socks. Scotty sighed. Not cake batter. Again.

Just as he was about to slump onto his stool, a strange sensation tickled his nose. It was a light, airy feeling, like when he’d chased a dandelion seed on a breezy afternoon. He looked down at Sparky.