Lion Head Mesa the serpent goddess

Not fashioned as the type for any sense of remorse, let alone an apology, this was a special occasion for Leshen – perhaps even the only one of its kind. He wanted more, whatever this witch would give him, and he knew he must appeal to her, should he want a share in her blessings.

There was the risk – always a risk – that she would turn on him the second he let his guard down or that she simply would not gamble with accepting his presence. He had earned such coldness, after all, and he thought of this as she stared down her muzzle at him, her gaze boring hatefully through his skull.

But the snake, ever poised to strike, felt himself uncoil for her.

Hard, artichoke eyes flitted away from him and down to his offering. Her expression changed, briefly, filling the thief with a glimpse of a fool’s paradise. She returned a cold look to him, along with a question. Leshen shifted on his feet and gave her a single nod.

Just then, her forward posture eased somewhat, and she regarded him with shadows over her eyes. His head tilted, questioningly, and he gestured towards the pile. More? His body angled itself to return to the woods at her command.