Lion Head Mesa infidel

the far off sound of feral barks and yowls was pleasing to the ears of the jodai. the sunfire eyes flare.
she parts from toula in order to catch up, now that the interloper is cornered. she is slow, wishing to savor it; the sun beats down upon her slender back, a looming crimson shadow cutting the ground sharply below her.
come out, pig, she calls, her voice a deep crackle of stormy contralto. you have nowhere left to run. show yourself now, and you may possibly still have children one day.