Two Eyes Cenote he will never sleep

Along the fringes of the cenote, summer weeds spring fast. She culls them from the earth and keeps on, working her way around foothills. Roots of lomatium and fernleaf are gathered into piles she would later take to the herb stores.

An image of Zaahira formed in her mind like, and the letter that stood yet without answer. She gazes down at the blooms in her paws, the shade a light gold. Suddenly the thought ebbs and it is Akashingo’s neb she hears approach from behind. She twists, skin rippling, and with great relief sees the familiar form of the mazoi.

“Stark,” Eset breathes, welcoming his gentle presence, grateful for a distraction. She pats the soil from her paws and moves out to meet him.