Lion Head Mesa pull up the intruder by the root of the weed

Legends head dangled over the edge. He was crawling around. Like a bug. All tiny down there, and wriggling excessively when he tried. The buzzards were starved and sitting about overhead. The flies swarmed, and the scent of death was an awaiting musk of 'when'. 

Her lip pushed into a pout, and her wrists dangled lazily above. Softening eyes, maybe of disappointment before care. There was no telling with her. Sad, bored. A genuine question then asked that had no right to be pure when its nature needed to be sinful. "Are you dying down there?"