It had not been the cat-looking dog that ultimately spoke to her, but rather another who laughed alongside her mother tongue. Her ears turned atop her crown, and a blurry gaze was thrown to the wayside as she searched for where that voice had come from.

A man appeared to meander his way towards her with a coat as brown as a forest at night and with eyes as vibrant as the sun. What polite introductions she had half expected to hear never came. Instead, it was with a determined swipe of his paws that a handful of berries (sweet-smelling and mouth-watering) rolled toward her.

Wen nennst du Oma, Junge? (Who are you calling Granny, boy?) She sniped through a flash of teeth before the unnamed German man dissolved back into the sea of moving bodies.

Ethel sniffed, unsure if she wished to act on an innate desire to scold the boy or if she wished to speak to him more—like where he had come from, how he knew her tongue, and did he, too, wake up in a foreign canine body?

But he was gone before she could decide for herself which path she wanted to take.

Oh well.

A whitening gaze turned back toward the rolling beads of red, and without another thought, Ethel slurped them all.

They were gone within one swallow.

And with a sanguine smile, she turned back toward the crowd as the music of chatter and song seeped into her bones. So much so that she did not deny her body the urge to sway and shake her hips.

Oh, she was going to get it on tonight.