Lion Head Mesa ushinawareta-wa

finally, the master of the sands did something beyond pleasuring himself.
ensnared briefly by his hold, satsu fought to breathe in an even manner, tucked against his chest which still reeked of jawahir; she focused on his words as best she could manage and when he pulled away again, felt unclean.
we wait for the saints to seek us out in our beds, she bemoaned,
and now we wait to hear if my - if crowfeather lives,
but she could not cry about it, but fashioned herself to ice once more, arrayed as she was by cracks in the veneer. leaking softly at the eyes.
he spoke of war.
satsu looked at him now, directly, her eyes a storm and his a placid sea.