Lion Head Mesa mariposa

to qiao's recollection this was the second wolf she'd spurned, and even she felt the crackling, embered edge of belen's confidence, qiao did not apologize.

she did, however, soften.

that small smile, the depreciating joke -- the hard lines of qiao's discerning gaze disappeared. i will seek the doctor, then. qiao busied herself with smoothing the frayed edges of a worn piece of hide. is that the only use you think of yourself? or is that how others see you? you do not strike me as a whore.