Yseult follows the tug instinctively to avoid risking her balance, even as brows twitch into a furrow at the unfamiliar experience of being yanked along. Crouched on the balls of her feet she reaches to pluck her notebook out of Sennara's hand, tucking it safely away into a pocket lest it meet the same fate as her pencil.

The floor shudders and heaves beneath their feet, enough to force her to press fingertips to stone. The way it hums with life is just as unsettling and harder to call an earthquake.

"Artists exaggerate." Bigger than juggernauts? Walking free? "In Par Vollen?"