Big Salmon Lake la vie en rose

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Kitsch does her best to heed West’s unspoken wishes, but the pain was too great to allow for much relaxation. At best, Kitsch could do nothing more than lay her head atop her ink-doused toes, willing her muscles to relax the tight vicelike grip they had upon her frame. Kitsch could do no more than listlessly lay upon the grasses [like the sullen ragdoll the man knew her to be] as West inspected her.

Kitsch felt West’s cool, comforting nose against her feverish skin and she drew in a breath and held it. The action itself was comforting, but Kitsch found she could still not relax. Her mind trailed West’s movements and assessed her inner being as West inspected her outer being. Her appraisal moved from the lacerations on her withers to the bruises upon the tender pink of her stomach and thighs. Kitsch knew what logically was next and drew legs in towards her body, hoping to conceal herself amongst her own tangle of legs. At the behest of West’s warm touch, the tangle eventually loosened and allowed her guardian all the freedom she needed to accurately assess her condition. Who was she to deny help when it was being so readily offered to her, after all?

“m—my chest hurts too, the girl wheezed, hoping to quickly draw attention to another part of her body as soon as possible. The fall she had sustained, coupled with the full weight of her hulking opressor, could have easily done damage to her delicate, gamine frame.

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