Lion Head Mesa peach pit

he speaks a tongue lost on racharra's ears, but its the cocky laughter that slips out of him that furrows her brow.

it took a moment after the imprisoned stranger's gibberish for the dark girl to find her words. quite proud of the trouble you've caused, are you?
her voice remains poised and steady in the face of what she could only assume is a boast. the light outlines her figure, but the shadows that downcast nearly engulf her  visage. all that remains are golden crescents, judging silently from the safety of the ledge.

when she'd first noticed the ruddied features, she nearly had a heartattack, thinking it was somehow the ogress. it took a moment for reason to return, and the boy's voice, for her to realize it wasn't. but something about the scent was familiar. something about it returned her to the days by the lake. what that something was remains in the air, dancing along with the dust motes that tease racharra.