Lion Head Mesa Mom come pick me up I'm scared

Worm lurches at the sound of another voice, this one is certainly not her own or within her head, as it pierces through the air, commanding and firm. Her voice could never hope to be such a thing, and so the difference is clear. Reeling around, the vermin comes face to face with a jackal-like woman, clad in hues of dusk and hearthflame, and she halts her pace—frozen, not out of fear, but out of habit, she had issued a command, after all. 

This woman had sharp, pointed ears and regal makeup that still beheld the feint scent of the berries that had been crushed to serve beauty. This woman and her scent were doubtedly, and irrevocably foreign to the eyes of the shadowed creature. 

She struggled to focus a moment, lost in this image and frozen to the spot, ready to address her betters. Situational awareness would kick back in, and she would drop her gaze, and then her body, kneeling in an appeasing bow, wiry tail tucked between her legs, as she was taught to do when she'd committed an error. ..I do not! This one is sorry for any trespass... I wandered here in the night.. I'm a little lost.. I can make it up to you! Worm will do whatever you require for your forgiveness.. 

She states firmly, not looking back up once. She would get out of trouble somehow, and here stood an opportunity to do more than just clear herself. Perhaps she could even worm her way into a comfortable bed with a hot meal. She'd stayed alive this long, and it was a testament to her dedication.