Bells & Burial

Sometimes, others held their cards a little too close to their chests. Calliope feels this way about the wolf standing before her. That expression on the woman’s face is just a bit too off. As if she’s lost or confused. Was it a bout of amnesia? She thinks for a moment, contemplating her next move. Was it better to keep probing or should she try to harass the stranger into answering? Mm, she didn’t particularly want to get bloodied in that moment.

A resigned sigh whistles between her lips, nearly matching the high-pitched dissonance of the wailing that swirled around them. “Fine. If you don’t want to talk, then at least help me figure this shit out,” Calliope jerked her muzzle toward the closest spire where the horrified carving seemed to almost stare at them. “These things weren’t here the other day. And if you weren’t either, do you have a paw in their arrival?” Her question is sharp, judgmental, weary as she stalks away from the woman toward the spire.

Lifting a wide paw, Calliope strokes her pink pads down the rough metal surface, using her dull nails to scratch along its etchings. “It seems these carvings are almost as terrified as you,” she hisses, teeth clamped together and shining beneath raised sneering lips.