He could see the lights from the camp now, just a few hundred feet away now. He could make out the flickering shadows of figures from the scattered light from the central fire. He felt himself becoming nervous. Many of his herdmates could be... Overzealous with the newcomers. He had lost many new members to fear (and bloodier methods) thanks to them. If he could smuggle her in without them seeing, that would be ideal....
He snapped back to reality as he remembered her question. "Umm..." he stammered. He didn't know why he was nervous to tell her, but there was this strange weight on his tongue as he tried to say the word. "It's.... Hey, try to be quiet and hold close to me," he muttered quickly. "I need to get you to my wagon so we can treat that wound...."
He quickly moved out of the edges of the fire's light, trekking quickly to a fairly large, wooden gypsy wagon parked away from the rest of the camp. Though the lights hanging from the corners of its roof were dim and nearly burned out, there was enough to betray bold, geometric painting on the sides and strange, angular masks, which appeared to be horned, hung by the window.
"Um," he started to ask with hesitation. "If you can move, my key is in my coat pocket. I think the left one. And I can't really get it with you like this- Can you reach it?" His eyes widened as he asked, and as they got bigger, it became more and more evident that they were not normal at all. Too shiny, too transparent, too blank....
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