Those born with magic have a sort of innate internal sense that is essential for tapping and using that magic. And since magic is its own fundamental part of reality, alongside things like mass and energy, sensing it is difficult to describe for those who don't have it.
But Milo wasn't born with magic: it was thrust upon him, along with with this body, against his will. Well, the magic part wasn't too bad. It was the one upside to being stuck in this situation, if only he could figure out how to use it. Feroz had told him that he had to find that foreign sensation. But which one? This whole body was foreign to him! The loose skin, the fur, the tail, the movable ears, the joints in his legs, the newly sensitive smell and hearing, and the... missing bits he didn't want to think about, all distracted from the feeling he needed to find.
It had been a few weeks, now, since Milo's "transplant," and the magic had just barely eluded him. It was late, past midnight, after another day of not quite getting it. Then, he had it. It truly was foreign sensation. At best, it might be compared to something between touch and sight. He found that he could manipulate that something he felt, though clumsily. He imagined it as a light, and made it so. A blue flame flicked into existence, ghostly at first, but gradually growing brighter. Once the foxfire was established, Milo found it was easier to maintain than had been to conjure. He could show Feroz soon, but for now he sat there, exhausted, feeling the flow of the magic and admiring his work.

Artwork is a commission by TheRoguez.
Milo and his story belong to me.