Silver Moraine [m] i'll cut the soft pockets, let bleed

The living stone moves enough in his periphery to draw his attention, then the stranger chuffs, and Raimo's stand-still is at an end. He is no stranger to this dance; although his interests have always been in the physical rewards of the present rather than the potential fallout or consequences of his actions.

The spicy layering of the stranger's scent is more alluring than he expects. They are nothing like his previous conquests - the memory of Kukutux, of Jakoul, fill his mind briefly.

As Raimo draws nearer he investigates the mantle of scents that mark their body. Mountain pine; a boa of masculine musk; nothing familiar.