Lion Head Mesa plumes

satsu does not detect the tension in the air between them until ramesses speaks, his breath warm and sweet with fruit. the topic he begins with gives satsu pause as her mind is preoccupied, but she remembers arsenio, the corners of her lips downturning.
i forget he is there often, she lied; it was hard not to think of the red-coat man when she was preparing for her sleep, though she did not think of him fondly.
the woman nibbles at some of the dried meats, lacking any real appetite.

she eyes the berries, thinking of slate—of maggie, and swallows.
have you enjoyed communing with your generals?
the sensō komon was something of an oddity to satsu; her father had never let her attend them, only her eldest brother had that right. she wondered sometimes what the men would get up to without a lady present.