Blackfeather Woods let me show you the way and the life

Her skin crawls, and she is suddenly hyper-aware of every movement of the two of them. She almost feels sick to her stomach, the rising and plunging fear that is her constant companion reaching a peak once more. His words seem louder than they are, and through sheer reflex of a lifetime of talking back, her own voice, sounding soft and disjointed replies, "If you want me to shut up, you'd better cut out my tongue" The words are wavering, not quick there, a half-formed reply. She is rooted to her spot, ears slicked back, only the hardness in her gaze remains of the spitfire she was moments ago.