Two Eyes Cenote it’s yours and it’s mine (hand it over)

it had been a lifetime, and only a few short weeks, since his grim march from dragonspine. in that time rowdy’s face grew longer. his limbs sturdier. and his eyes lost their natal blue, transitioning to a glittering color that was his family’s legacy.

he was so tired all the time. the youthful energy that should be his birthright was sapped from him by qiao’s careful potions. he grew, but he did not seem healthy — one look at riot and one could see the disparity; one a sickly orchard, the other a fruiting tree.

he followed stormchaser demurely. camp here. sleep here. at times he wondered in his more altruistic moments, just how deep the crone’s claws penetrated this man’s heart — but those moments were brief and often eclipsed by long bouts of murkiness.

the crone showed a strange interest in them both, when she checked in on them. she poked at their ribs, she measured the fat on their topline — he was trotted out like a fat sow before market, feeling the invisible grip that snared his throat only tighten whenever she was around.

when she was absent, it was like the sweet lull of a summer storm. stormchaser did not question his health, or show a strange fixation on his tail. in these moments he could breathe, his mind letting down its defensive walls long enough for a spark of life to show in his eyes.

today they were brought to a hall smoothed over by the wear of many feet. rowdy felt a shiver seize his spine as he passed the glaring eyes of the cenote’s deep pools. he could not articulate it, but he sensed souls in those deep pits.

his eyes trained ahead as they marched past. he was grateful for riot’s sturdy presence — the only remnant of his past life that remained.