Lion Head Mesa Ṣalāt al-Janāzah

jawahir spoke plainly in their shared language, tongue a whip of fire, eyes embroidered with rings of ambergris; close and cunning.
she thinks herself above us for her wolf blood, for her lord father. a madness seeped through their gaze, warm and thrilled with the secret.
but the man she calls her father is not. i have known that pitiful girl for far longer than anyone, and she is one of us! less than, you could say, because her blood is worse off than even ours!
drawing back again, as if nothing had happened. carrying the bone to work upon with their teeth.