Sun Mote Copse deep throat

It was bright—almost too bright.

Squinting, Biskane took in her blurred surroundings, noting the colors, the shapes, but paying most attention to the brightness. She did not know what it could be—was it something magical? Ethereal? Or, something mundane? Her puppy-addled brain and senses were not able to put two and two together, but she couldn’t help to remain glued to the blinding circle.

Usually, she would be squealing, crying out for her mother, the demand for milk always on her tongue. Yet as she stared longingly, her voice remained quiet. She did not know whether or not her siblings could see her, or even if her mother was watching, but if they were, they would find her perfectly still. Silent.