Luneshale Pass oil & stone

"not lonely, lord prince. watchful. the sands reek of coyote." all the same, the crocodile followed, ambling into the warm shadows beneath the gravid arch of creamy moon.

he washed grit from the inside of his jawline, the fall of his hackles, and thought briefly of inji and tuna, craving the embrace of the lavender girl, the yielding of the coyote woman.

"are you a tactician too?" like the other man, thutmose, who mapped the terrain in silence and aloneness.