Private Tales Empty Chairs and Empty Tables

Anais glanced up at him, her expression briefly betraying the wariness she still carried. A flicker of green fire passed through her eyes, an old anxiety resurfacing.

“Never seen a portal stone,” she murmured, her voice soft and laced with unease. “We always worried they’d take us somewhere terrible… or that they might separate us.” Her brow furrowed, and then, almost too quickly, "We're not using it, are we?"

She cleared her throat “Music sounds nice, though,” she added, with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes as she tried to pull herself back to the present. She followed his gaze over the dip of the hill, down toward the town.

But the quiet struck her as odd. No scents from open hearths. No chatter. No carts creaking over cobbled paths. No children’s laughter or stray dogs barking. Just the wind whispering through the trees, brushing too lightly against a silence that felt… wrong.

“Seems a little quiet…” she echoed, slowing slightly, her fingers tightening around the worn strap of the satchel that held all of her worldly possessions. A chill crept along her spine.

Anais hitched the satchel higher on her shoulder and hurried to keep pace with the great pale hound as he loped ahead. Each soft pad of his paws was too loud in the stillness, the kind of hush that makes a traveler hold her breath and listen harder.

The path dipped toward the first cottages on Faunrock’s outskirts, with low stone walls and shuttered windows. No smoke curled from their chimneys. A wooden pail lay on its side by a well. The silence pressed against her eardrums until the rush of her own pulse felt deafening.

She swallowed, her voice hushed lest she disturb anything.. "Do you hear anything? ..Smell anyone?” she asked, aware of how keen his senses were. Unease prickled her skin. Her boots scuffed the road as she drew alongside him, fingers grazing the fur at his shoulder fo reassurance.