Lion Head Mesa plumes

the berries shuffled away from her.
she listened as he explained, intrigued by the way he saw each of the men, and far less amused by their unpredictable nature—or the nature of war at all really—than he.
biting in to a fresh piece of apple or some such now, which burst across her tongue in time for pharaoh's comment.
her brows raised.
i am here now, am i not. another thought came to her then, and she boldly reached towards him, only to take some of the over-ripe fruit for herself and lay it beside a portion of the remaining meat, nearest to the teeth marks she'd left behind.
then, as if nothing had happend at all, she went on:
i presumed your legs were too tired by the night, or you'd have walked on your own.