Firestone Hot Springs i'll check in tomorrow if i don't wake up dead

Pema began to speak, something both calming and grating, somehow. It was when she asked her last question that her gaze fell away, accidentally meeting the gaze of the male as silently he left the flowers by the woman's side. She held it a moment longer than she ought to, even in her shattered state noticing the grief there. When his own gaze snapped away, hers found the flowers, dying and wilted and yet still as red as dried blood. Blood against the snow, the trail she'd left for the first few miles when she'd fleed, barreling into whatever barred her way, gaze glassy as it had been when he'd pressed his paws against her throat. Her gaze held the poppies, their dying beauty, and she did not look up at the tan woman any more.