Luneshale Pass hielo

another rough tug of reluctant sinew. soto weighs her answer. whatever debt it was, does it matter anymore? she’s captive to a man far worse than her four tormentors that chiseled off her leg.

a barb aimed his way by her last line of question. he sets aside the mangled hare, fragile ribs fanned outward like the spectacular display of neural crests on a fish.

there’s no pleasantry in either of their eyes. what tenuous goodwill he has vanishes under her masterfully keen tongue, still sharp despite the dulling haze of her sedatives. quando decidio convertirte en puta?