Lion Head Mesa That's a fine looking high horse

The mazoi moves about the room. Eset traces the undulating eddies of the sandstone ground with a wide, dull-colored stare, only fluctuating to take in the sable silhouette of the wolf once.

“Of Akashingo,” her head nods, spurning the woman's real meaning and not parting with the hope that she could be convinced otherwise. Eyes lift now to the framework of the doorway and eager to pass through it. “There are a few other vintages in the palace stores. I will fetch them-” she steps.