Moonspear southern gothic

Padding along in silence, her mind was wandering miles away; as hard as she tried to recollect herself, there was a hidden hurdle there that she couldn’t quite clear. Perhaps this was her fate, to live in solitude for the entirety of her life, however long that may be. At some point, her steps began to slow until she was standing there, stiff-legged and just as blind to her surroundings as before. Even her body, it seemed, was growing tired of this existence. The steady tread of footfalls at her rear grew louder—closer—and, in a matter of seconds, suddenly became deafening.

Yama pinned her ears back and swung around to face her follower, body rigid and fur standing on end; her subconscious still responded to potential threats, instincts working in overdrive to ensure her survival, even though her conscious self wasn’t the least bit interested in maintaining this feat of living. But when she came face-to-face with someone that she recognised, she visibly relaxed, the imagined threat nullified.

“Hydra…” she murmured, dipping her head and averting her gaze. “I… didn’t know it was you…” She didn’t know anyone had been there initially, actually, but she left that part out—what would be the point in making her uselessness all the more obvious?