Seaside Moors why did i call again,

the little gestures that chacal continued to make sheared the landscape from around mother and child as they sang together. and for the first time to erzulie's ear, the soft-spoken jackal spoke her first. when the babe trailed into humming, the harlot drew her closer for a more snug embrace, joining her own low whisper to the notes chacal had set. a moment of great power, something tasting lightly of rum and the scent of herbs hanging in the hot air of evening, waves lapping a salt shore she would never again see.
"chante zwazo." whatever loa had blessed her, the woman was grateful indeed, for the veve and the verve of the music in chacal. she would want for nothing, and erzulie at once saw the future unscroll before her.