Meadowlark Prairie waiting on the planet to turn to me, dark side

if you do not see me in the east, you will surely see me in the red-after. nï wega, traveler. qiao had already begun to collect her things — threads of gaultheria and stinging nettle. one last look at this man; copper like a desert sun, burnished — two tormented cerulean eyes. handsome, even by her account.

he was a man of duty — with many things besides the road on his mind. the road was all qiao had, and so she moved on with a bow.

only when arsenio was out of earshot did qiao murmur an old spell, weaving words of a dead tongue together so their fates were twined: he, his woman, and the strange herbalist he chanced upon one fine november day.