Dahozhoni Meadow Correr

"no, cabrón," came her scathing scoff as she traveled in front of juárez, flinching at the touch of his teeth. "he was pharaoh. he kept my mind on him and my body aware he was a god." unlike the dog trailing her, was the heavy insinuation. inside herself she was a morass of fraying nerves and a new hunger, a gnawing bite for the green. it would save her from this. it would — maybe. maybe she would dream of crowfeather while juárez gripped her waist and breathed his ugly breath over her skin. the green was worth that. the green was worth more. he was a fool not to even entertain how akashingo might pay him for such verdant herbs, and their courtesan returned.