Lion Head Mesa i keep digging myself down deeper

A few days, she says, and Zaahira connects the dots herself. She must have left before the cracks in Greatwater's foundation had burst.
She watches carefully as she finally resigns herself to taking gentle laps from the bowl. Zaahira nudges it closer. You are ill, she whispers, a tenderness to it.
And then, there it is: you look familiar.
Swallowing, her gaze is cast outward to the view of the billowing dunes from the nearby window. My name is Zaahira. I was a member of Greatwater Lake, our old pack. Was. I came to Akashingo a few weeks before the war broke out. You were lucky to not have to witness what had happened. You missed a lot. a twinge of sardonicism in that, a curl to her lip that could have been a smile. You did not know me. But I saw you, a few times.