A Gentle End or a Torturous One?

Bertha... had died. The big, protective sheep had kept Gypsy company, guiding her through the world, for as long as she could remember. Now that she was alone, the world was truly dark. Funny joke, considering the tiny woman was blind. She moved slowly across the land, each pawstep well placed to keep her from toppling over the edge of a cliff or some similar fate.

The old woman had needed a nap and so had curled up in a patch of soft grass. She slept like the dead and, when she woke, even she could tell that things had changed. The fae's little pink nose quivered. There was an edge to the air, a bite. Gypsy felt the faintest of rumbles in the earth, but that wasn't terribly uncommon. The earth moved like they moved, albeit much slower. Ears strained for any sounds, but there were none. That was the oddest part; the lack of sound. The purple and white woman's brow furrowed and she could do nothing aside from sit still, ears twitching every now and again as she strained them, searching for something. Anything.

"Speech" "Bertha"