Lion Head Mesa blood & bone

there is a silent thrum of a quick beating heart against tuna's ribcage, desperate to wrap itself around the form of the mazoi. and perhaps all there is to do is relish the moment before he sweeps her away, the fellahin hot on his heels.

the sun perhaps burns the sensitive eyes of any onlooker, their dance may remain in simple peace. a gentle wave is what seems to come over the crocodilian, and tuna greedily drinks in every second that she finds herself being given what she feels is special treatment. perhaps, if only she were to know...

her own kisses would come for his figure, the silent little gasps when they intertwine in this soft grass. in his book, perhaps she is nothing but a nameless face. but in hers, he will remain as a sacred song that her heart will sing.

she finds herself continuously searching for his touch, fearful that he may come to his senses and pull away at a moment's notice. so she gives tirelessly, endlessly, in any way to keep him ensnared. khusobek may come to even hear her beg, if he allowed her to.

there is a playfulness in all the lost breath, even nips of her teeth to see if he finds such things as amusing.