dark as corpses but cluttered with gold

Basilisk had taken a nap with Hazel, laying down with her and snuggling against her familiar, warm body. But eventually, his stomach’s complaints had driven him from their bed. He was rummaging through their supplies, finding comfort in the familiar food before him. It took a lot of fuel to keep a wolf his size running. The wolves around him ate a great deal less, and he had felt embarrassed from a young age at how much he really needed to eat. His grandfather had teased him about it relentlessly. Had instructed him to catch his own food, before he depleted their stores.

He grabbed another chicken leg, and was biting into it when thrashing caught his attention. Alarmed, he let the food drop to the floor with a ‘plop’ and he turned, and looped back towards their room. The scent of blood caught him before he saw her. Spurring him on with greater speeds, until he was crashing into their room. Tripping over their stuff on the floor.

And then at last he reached her. He grabbed her by the shoulders, and held her down. “Hazel, Hazel, wake up!” He told her, eyes wide at the blood dripping from her foreleg.

"Speech"