Lion Head Mesa plumes

he swept close, his body warm, his breath sweet.
so-he-na- she tried to sound out what he had called her, her tongue wrapping the word in the syllables of her father's language, and failing, as they were so different.
she was blushing madly and it was hard to tell if the drink was the root cause or his proximity, or the feeling of his breath on her ear. the surfacing of one particular memory: the wellspring — the bits of frenzied dream.
satsu leaned in to him to keep herself steady.
ne-ku-bi... nekubi satsu, she sighed in to his coat, all the fervor having left her.
it was time to sleep, she thought, fully ignorant of the desires burning in the man.