The echoing noise was seismic and was less a voice and more the sound of an avalanche of rock and sand that mimicked something resembling speech. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, and Thorax felt the pseudo fur on her guise stand on end all over her body as the force behind the foreign words chilled her to her core. Jacques' head snapped back and forth, looking for a foe as he drew his sword in a blur of metal, the blade clasped to his hoof. Handy was knocked out of his mad reverie by the force of the noise. There was nothing familiar about those words. They were unlike the deer tongue, which was alive and full of energy, jumping from one word to the next. This was heavy, ponderous, each utterance a great weight full of consequence.