Two Eyes Cenote Leaf-nosed

She was treated by the old hemet. She had no say in the matter, but after a day or so, she became accepting of her, because she never asked for more than Eset was willing to give.  She worked quietly and efficiently. She chased visitors from the infirmary room. Her scent did not conjure images of endearment, but it was soothing. Earthy. Familiar.

Eventually, Eset had let go of that endless string of dreams and potentials. The final spatter of blood had been cleared from her thigh, and they were gone just like that. She had nothing to bury. No physical memory of them to hold. It’s like they’d never been here at all. And maybe they hadn’t.

The mind self-edits. The mind reforms. In the end, Eset convinced herself it was her pride that had suffered more than her soul. But she wasn’t ready to return to her responsibilities in the terrestrial. One day she laid upon the stone and watched @Qiao as the coyote moved about her business.

“Who taught you?” It was the first sentence she'd volunteered.