hop-timist

Curved in on herself, ears pinned to her skulll and head held low, stars danced in her vison and her chest constricted. Her breath was coming in shallow pants and ruby eyes narrowed on her father as he spoke. You know I will not hurt you. She bit back the urge to snap Do I? in impertinence, if nothing else, because deep down, she did know it. But teenagers were messy things, and back-chatting was in their nature. If only she could force words past the stone like lump in her throat.

When he stepped back, she made an effort to breathe through her nose with mixed results. Short, shuddering breaths slowly evened, though her fur refused to lay flat. She bit back on her molars, muzzle wrinkling with defiance yet. "Proved your point?"

"speech"