Sawtooth Spire when everything was broken, the devil hit his second stride

Watching Phaedra stumble around like a drunken newborn filly might've been funny on another day, but tonight it filled Wylla with black dread that something was terribly wrong with her pup. It clawed up her throat, shrieking static into her ears, and for a long moment she was unable to do or say anything. Her yellow gaze tracked her fumbling daughter into the girl slammed into her legs, physically shaking her from her reverie.

Making things hard? What are you talking about, baby? she asked softly, pinching her brows together as she tried to recall if she'd ever said something like that. Or maybe Phaedra just meant that falling down had made things difficult? She did seem extremely uncoordinated, but no doubt that was just part of the whole picture. Heaven help her if Phaedra had actually injured herself somehow...

She nervously licked her nose and philtrum when the girl began panicking. No, no, just a little water! Just some water to drink! Phaedra had to drink. Wylla couldn't bear to think what might happen if she didn't. Papa would never let you go! I'll never let you go! She had no clue what she was reassuring Phaedra about, or where the mentions of strength came from, but obviously something was terribly wrong. Wylla would say anything at all if it meant soothing Phaedra's worries.