Sunset Valley backbone

Does it! he exclaimed, though the thorn in his side remained, though the very existence of that thorn felt unfair and almost blasphemous -- he had thought that he understood Redd, the duality between her and Wealda and perhaps more importantly the gestalt of the two.

(Wealda is an instrument, a figure-head, an abstraction and a reification at once, and you do not own her, get this through your thick skull.)

He shook his head, mirroring her smile and letting her examine the scents on his pelt.

It's hard to explain... she's hard to explain.

Even in his best moments, he fell far from raconteurdom -- though he would begrudgingly offer more detail if she pried.

But I love her, he laid bare the truth of it, even if it was redundant.

His nostrils flared as he noted the scents -- many familiar, many unknown to him -- lingering close to her. And you, Masque... what about you?

He tamped down the uneasiness inside of him, like a boot grinding out a cigarette.