Qeya River crudo

the smiling lips cooled, though the welcome did not drop. she was far too much a polished courtesan for that. "three mothers. several newborns. a couple of infants. a yearling girl. a man." would they make her number the babies? that interest would chill her gut; silvertongue forced herself to trust herself, to breathe. and as she numbered them, she realized she had no protection at all, that she had placed them all at the mercy of this visibly powerful pack with more numbers, if the wind was to be correct. but why lie? silvertongue's glassblue eyes slid between the two as her heart raced. "who are you, can i ask?" she tried to remain firm, wanting to shrink, to flee, to raise an alarm, and all for motherhood. not for any threat offered by the two. it was as if the lack of visible violence forced a worse terror.