That was when the confrontation was interrupted by a lazy, feminine yawn. "Haaah… What a loud bunch. How is one supposed to get their beauty sleep like this?"
The sound came from right above Quinlan's head.
The ancient creature stirred.
A little midnight-furred cat stretched languidly on his crown. Her movements were thoroughly exaggerated, as though the chaos unfolding in the hall had nothing to do with her.
Her back arched high, dark fur rippling with purple streaks under the light, tail curling. She stretched each paw one by one, claws extending just long enough to scratch circles into the air, before settling into another yawn so wide it nearly split her tiny face.
Morgana's eyes narrowed to slits. For the briefest second she dismissed the sight as a conjured familiar, until the aura hit her. Recognition made her breath hitch. There weren't many talking cats in Thalorind. Talking cats with this an aura depth of this level, even less so.
