Lion Head Mesa ساخط khasara

what the man wanted mattered little to jawahir in the moment. it wasn't until he moved toward the door that the courtesan took on a frilled look, pointed like the devils of the desert.

this was a private matter. the man was nearing a line in the proverbial sand and should he cross it, a viper's bite awaited him.

jawahir lacked the good humor of sayf.

this is where the dead sleep. a telltale silence beyond the threshold had told the coyote as much; inside lay maggie's remains, for which jawahir would recite the holy words, though their tongue was anything but suitable.