Washed away

She blinked once, hiding her surprise when a white bird glided through the hut, dropping a critter on the boards beneath. Her white Lord thanked the creature, and it was immediately clear it had been doing his bidding. She was starting to wonder what on earth she had gotten herself into now. This wolf whispered to feathered creature - no, more than that. She remembered the hint of something soft and white that had scurried out when she had awoken. He whispered to creatures and they did his bidding, he stirred strange herbs into pots. He was a witch wasn’t he? She had heard of the like before.

She looked hungrily at the rodent as it was offered to her. Clutching it carefully in one paw, and waiting to ensure she wasn’t missing any ques before helping herself to the snack. She ate it in its entirety, skin and bones all. She knew how to make the most of scraps.

He placed his bowl in front of her next, and she kept a careful side eye on it just in case anything emerged from its contents. One could never be sure exactly what might come of a witches brew. Her main attention landed carefully on her Lord, listening as he told her the name of the territory she had been taken to. It was not a name she recognised, and she wondered if her Owner would come knocking at their door. Surely no, he had told her himself that she wasn’t worth the effort.

She blinked at his odd description in the middle, and she tried to bite her tongue. Truly, she tried. She blamed it on the trauma. “I did not realise Trauma Specialists could be hot, cold, or sweet, Sir Oleander.” She said in a very polite ‘oh, please forgive me’ voice. His next question was not unexpected, but not exactly one she wished to answer. “I was committing a great sin, I can only assume the spirit of the bear was chosen to punish me.” She helpfully explained.

"Speech"