Morningside Cuesta [m] vieja

he spoke of starlight, an odd subject against the clear ferocity of his cruel face. her eyes traced that scar, wondering what sort of violence he had invited or begun to earn such a mark. when her gaze found the glint of his teeth under the stitched lip, she felt the fear again, cold in her gut. he was juárez. she was "belen." but where there should have been camaraderie in the shared tongue, in the similar origin of their names, silvertongue felt only that slow and welling terror. her smile held itself in her eyes, her mouth. "un viajero?" she asked, trying not to notice how the sun was dimming, how long streaks of darkness were finding their way over the taiga.