Coming Home

Here's a short story I wrote for school. I can't decide if I really like it or not. I'm not that great a short stories, I write full books. (yes, I have finished books, lol. Four total. I just havne't posted them, dunno of I will. They're pretty long). So this is pretty short, though written on lined paper it was 3 pages. There isn't a whole lot of character development or anything, because I wrote it more for a grammar thing. I might add on to it, make it longer and more developed, but I don't really know. Anyway, here it is.

I walked cautiously through the dark, unlit path. With each footstep I took, I was one step closer to my destination. No doubt I would be welcomed, but still I was uneasy. Home. That was where I left, four years ago. Home. That’s where I was going.
It had been four years since I had seen the smiling face of my sister, Jaylie; four years since I had smelt the strong aroma of my mother’s cooking; four years since I had heard the pounding of my father as he worked, shaping wood.
I stopped. I was there. I had reached the small wood house I had lived in until I was twelve.
I would not procrastinate. No. I wouldn’t hesitate. I curled my fist and knocked once on the door. As I did so, I saw the shimmer of my magic swirl around my hand. I sighed. Magic was the reason for my leaving. I had left to learn how to use it.
The door swung open. I stared into the aging, careworn face of my mother. “Jade,” she whispered, and wrapped me in a hug. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
“Jade!” came the excited shriek from inside the house. Jaylie bounded up to me. She was smiling, as always. I laughed.
“Where’s Dad?” I questioned.
“The shop,” my mother replied. I nodded. He almost always was. I went to see him.
He was sitting at his bench, sanding a piece of wood. He looked up and saw me. He smiled. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had been worried he wouldn’t want to see me. He had been mad, very mad, when I’d left. He didn’t approve of magic. He rose to his feet and grabbed something from his desk. He handed it to me. It was wrapped in a piece of brown cloth, and was about the size of a fist. I opened it, and smiled. It was a fancy, beautiful carving of a bird, the animal symbol of magic. In the corner was a small, carved fang. My father’s signature, you could call it. Our last name. On every piece of wood he worked on, you could find the fang. He had made the carved bird.
I felt tears gather in my eyes. He had accepted magic, because I could do it.
“Welcome home, Jade,” he said. I grinned. It was indeed, good to be home.