Oh, it's just... well, whatever that is. Lancelot swallows, hard, and tries to focus on not making a single sound. Lily flattens her ears and he fumbles for her instantly, trying to stop her from growling -- ending up tangled in an awkward sort of embrace with the dog. He presses a finger to his lips, half smothered by white fluff, and tries not to look directly at that creature. His heart is racing a little, I think, and he knows Lily is picking up on his fear. It's a little like he's dropped into some nightmarish children's film, the sort that aren't aimed solely at children. More Jacob and Wilhelm with feet being carved than genteel, safe cartoons. His fingers flex into soft white fur and his head spins, feeling a little like he's stood up too quickly. He wants to ask questions -- what is that? Will it hurts us? Where did it come from? Yet he can't speak a word for fear of pulling its attention.

His eyes drop sideways and catch the faint, largely suffused glow of Pel's mark. His head hurts again and he has to flail out a hand to brace against the floor as his stomach rolls.