Wapun Meadow et peccatum meum contra me est semper

The woman shrieked a word he had not heard before; she claimed they were kin, somehow. Mesa stopped and regarded her as if she had three heads, and his eyes went up and down her figure.

Your own. This was not a sickly bear-thing? This was a sickly wolf-thing? He balked.

A rumble started in his chest which gave his words an edge. You're not mine. He did not understand what she meant. In another stride he'd put some distance between them. He still surveyed for signs of life beyond this wretched creature but, he was growing dissatisfied by the effort.

The man sniffed the air for signs of anything else worth hunting, but there was only the smell of grass, and the sound of the wind against it.