Sunspire Mountains all the butterflies have turned to vultures in my stomach

he was simping and trying to sell her a timeshare, now? she could admit when things were her fault, and her cursory comment had apparently planted some kernel of hope in riley. she listened with the politeness of a fellow waiting room therapy patient flipping through a parenting magazine as he painted her a modest mural of badlands with an arroyo stocked with its seasonal fill. she wouldn't be surprised if his entire pack was washed away in a flash flood, which did seat an amused curl of her lip.

"forsooth? a river, really? wow," she said, not bothering to hide the lack of merit this information had on her life. a river, no matter how pretty it was purported to be, was not impressive and certainly not going to sway her favor.

nope, she would never know. beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and she would never behold whatever beauty his eyes opined. 

they continued to walk side-by-side. esme tried to master patience as he slowly led them towards these rumoured soggy trees, in silence, until boredom started plowing the fields of her brain cells and she was ruminating foul play. as fantasies were conceived, he suddenly asked: "where do you live?"

esme surfaced from her musing and twisted her lips, casting riley a look that related "what are you playing at?" surely he knew the answer, that she was a rootless woman at a loose end, but content enough with her circumstances. he ought to have fathomed that out, at the least. maybe she was giving him too much credit in regards to intellect. 

"wherever my head falls for the night," she said shortly, breaking contact with him to move further ahead with a cursive furl of her tail to punctuate her lithesome strut. "any further questions, your honor?" she called over her shoulder, stretching the tension from her legs as she waited for riley to rejoin her. "i have one: where's the soggy trees?"