Greatwater Lake the undertaker's thirst for revenge is unquenchable

The strange, injured woman remain in repose for several moments for responding and each second of silence hangs on Kitsch’s thin coat like a cocklebur — but eventually West responds to her inquiry, opening her eyelids to reveal gems swirled like malachite; they look glossy, yet mollified and for that, Kitsch is thankful. The pearl had not been touched by any infliction other than famine [the pain of which she figured did not hold a candle to the wounds West sustained] and was deeply uncomfortable in the presence of such. But as West’s pain abated, so did Kitsch’s discomfort and the young girl loosened the cinching between her shoulder. She had assisted this poor women and now the pain was gone… such a direct cause and effect pleased her. 

One of the poppies was pushed towards Kitsch in what was altogether a pretty nice gesture. The girl lowered her obsidian-tipped crown to inspect it further, for her blitz from earlier did not leave much time for inspection and scrutiny. The pod was leathery and smelled distinctly earthy… and to Kitsch, seemed to be nothing but an ugly, tumorous, petal-less flower. Nothing special, eh? But Kitsch stole a quick glance at West reminded her that there definitely was something special about this ugly flower, and it would likely be useful later. With an inky paw, the girl slid the withered flower behind her haunches, hidden underneath the feathering of her tail so it would not be forgotten.  “Thanks,” she said simply. Okay, so West was going to be alright. But how was she going to get home? Where was home? Did West need Kitsch’s help with her return voyage? All of these questions simmered in Kitsch’s brain and boiled down to two questions: “Wh- Where are you headed? Can you get there?”