The Heartwood meet me at the lighthouse of alexandria

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West kept the goods to herself — as she often did — and Kitsch could not help but let out a small sigh at the stipulations required. Eat. It was all she had to do in order to achieve that release, the warm-softness-loveliness that resulted from West’s medicines, but her belly protested and lurched at the thought of consumption. Still, Kitsch drew the rabbit back towards her and tore small strips of flesh from the carcass. Her eyes watched West as she organized her stores, imbibing her movements and trying to recognize patterns in her filing. Every so often, her attention jumped back to Libeccio, ensuring that he stayed full in view. 

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