A Gentle End or a Torturous One?

A voice sounded and the little old woman flinched reflexively. Blame it on her past or the fact that she was so distracted by the eeriness of the world. Both would have been correct. At least the voice sounded kind as it offered her aid. "Y-yes," she responded in the softest of tones. "I've lost my guide," Gypsy explained, ears flicking backwards for a moment. "If I could keep my side against yours, it would be very helpful."

The small fae rose, taking a tentative step towards where she could feel the heat of the other wolf. Again, Gypsy flinched as the fur of their shoulders touched. "My name is Gypsy," she offered, "Thank you for your help."

As the duo walked along, the purple fae kept her senses on alert. "Something's wrong, isn't it? Something dangerous is happening. Like the world is quaking in terror." Her every day voice was soft, but she spoke in a whisper. It didn't seem right to talk any louder than that. Not with the oppressive atmosphere closing in around them. As if to solidify this thought, another tremor went through the ground. The ground beneath their paws was hard, but every now and again a soft spot formed. Tentatively, Gypsy dug her little paws into softer earth, noting a slight difference in texture from the path they'd been on. "Is something different here?"

"Speech" "Bertha"