Sunset Valley i make the money, not wash the clothes.

in the end colt found nothing. he contented himself with grubs dug from beneath several stones, and a fieldmouse he stepped on completely by accident.
he spat the tiny bones out and eventually sauntered back to where he had left indra. she was crouched over the remains of the rabbit.
his eyes narrowed to see what she was doing: arranging all its parts and particles in a way that deeply unsettled colt. he was a superstitious man. had to be out here. the circle, askew as it was, seemed unnatural. the rest of the ivories were scattered as she tended to the soft bits.
"what are yew doin', indra?" his face was a mask.