Lion Head Mesa [m] forever in debt to your priceless advice

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Whatever you see fits, is what she would say, and then she talks only in song. In secret moans that seep into the walls of her chamber, in the trophy the priest held in the form of scratches and her scent that surrounds him. Over and over she would bleed him dry and command him to praise her name; worship and pray to her on his knees, he would. 

***

When she is through with him, heat is dabbed from her forehead and she stays no closer to him than she has to. He has served his purpose to her.
And now; now, she is wrought with deep-cutting guilt that builds a wall between them. The chill of the air is in her bones, and as hard as she had tried to ignore them, the thoughts of her Raven are swarming her in a way that makes it hard to breathe. And as a result, she says nothing to him.