Lion Head Mesa [mp] prada

Hurk

Akhtar swallowed down the acidic bile in the back of his throat, allowing his head to lower noodly to the ground.

The shadow of a curse was resting over their comfortable little land, and he’d become the unwitting sucker of it. A fellahin, feeding him fermented berries, and who was he to say no to beautiful people offering him things? 

A fool. A damned fool.

He groaned emphatically to his empty room. 

Fucking stupid.

The sound of paws outside his room. He swallowed back the rising tide.

A breath.

You may enter. Half spoken into the dirt. Perhaps they’d think him just sickly. There was something going around it seemed.