candle burning slowly by the bed

Settled amidst a luxurious nest of furs and throws, the pallid form of the queen who had been rather keen to interrogate him the night prior. In the low light of the dying fires, she seemed smaller than before. Perhaps that was reality, and the night before no more than a fever dream of exhaustion and adrenaline that had made her seem so much larger. She called out to him from across the room, requesting his assistance with no time to waste. Keeping his head low and tail loosely tucked against his inner thighs, he slipped quietly forth. Well trained paws held in such a way that his nails did not click so loudly against the stone. Holdovers from the mixed flooring of his old home.

As he drew closer, he could see that she was indeed rather large, but not in stature. Basilisk must have fathered this litter, for it was visibly wreaking havoc upon her diminutive form. Her flanks were stretched with the burden of her progeny, and he prayed quietly that she was nearing the point of their birth- otherwise she may not survive. It would be a tragedy to lose her to such a preventable circumstance. He blinked a few times, banishing the altogether useless pondering. "What would you ask of me, my lady?" he questioned, vocals still hoarse with the abuse of weeks prior. He cast his gaze about, his singular functional eye seeking something that was amiss. The hearth could certainly use stoking, and the remnants of her meal appeared to have been cast aside- perhaps he was meant to tidy up.

"speaking" -- "in another language"