Totoka River I hate the winter

I apologize for the wait on this. :-(

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Had the woman before him had given voice to her contemplations of what he was mixed with the gangster would have been insulted. Being called coywolf or it’s simpler variation coy with a domineering and disgusted curl of one’s lips in a superior sneer was something that Arturo was exasperatedly used to he would not be so kind at being called part dog. The derogatory slur of half-breed was enough for the gangster and even that was an extreme test of his patience; older and more capable than he was as a child who had no choice but to bear such hurtful words he was more likely to take his teeth to another’s face before he let them so freely insult him. After all, in the grand scheme of things what did his blood matter? Coywolf or not the gangster was a threat not to be taken lightly.

The woman’s gaze remained, a pin prickle of insistence upon him as she responded to his awful small talk. His gaze was heavy lidded for a moment as it swept back to her, twin embers grazing over her once more, assessing as opposed to admiring. Not that she wasn’t a sight it was just …she wasn’t the sight he desired. Lotte had captured him hook, line and sinker and Arturo had let his nightingale weave her spell utterly unwilling to fight her. He could be nothing more than her trophy husband, something for her to flaunt and damn it all if that in it’s simplicity wouldn’t have made him happy. “To visit a friend.” Came Arturo’s vague response, unwilling to give information further on how much friend truly didn’t apply to what he saw Lotte as. Nevertheless, she needn’t know that and he was not so willing to give up information that he considered highly private.

The pair conversed for a few moments longer before they parted ways, with Arturo heading towards the towering sentinels of Donnelaith with his nightingale on his mind.

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