Lion Head Mesa dust

tamar did not know what would come next.

and yet she did know, and stood in silent understanding. the scent of the odd black objects was sharp and unknown. but they were not known to tamar. she watched in rapt and reverent silence, attempting to learn but finding herself only suspended in the moment, endlessly.

slate's movements were precise and tender. the servant girl's eyes welled with tears to see the practiced care with which the healer treated her patient. breath hitched in her throat, but she refused to weep. slate filled her eyes.

at last the golden maid understood, and then she did gasp. a single gulp of air. she shook her head. "i will not leave." she had no loyalty to maggie; she had not even known the woman. but who she was had shaped some amorphous future for herself.

was it dread?

tamar began to weep as slate put her paw upon the ending creature; silently, piously; she shuffled closer and gingerly lifted her own.

it was the healer who compelled her so. pale-tan eyes flickered to the woman's features. but there was nothing to be said. only waiting.