Dragoncrest Cliffs two minutes, turkish.

sleep was her answer?
cayetano’s breath hitches in an airy scoff
i’ll sleep when i’m dead,
he vows
still brimming with youthful naïveté
the hard claws of life
have yet to sink their claws in him

kheviel turns away again,
this time scolding the flavor of the fish
cayetano grins as he eats his full 
unaware of the unholy incubus
that stirs in his belly 
awakening with fitful tosses and turns 
later that night
coming face to face with
what bitter flavor profile
“eating one’s words” has.