Two Eyes Cenote pétalo

he’s brought to a crude cell where dampness has made its habitation among the seeping walls of stone and moss. a faded but pervasive scent of rot and another soul lingers  — soto does not need to exercise much imagination when it comes to the fate of the cell’s former occupant. 

his gaze flickers to the man who’d dragged him here. did this man marvel how simple it had been to subdue him? did he wonder why a man as him might fold so easily, what motives lied in wait beneath the surface lurking, crocodilian in its patient purpose?

soto would see to it nothing was left to the imagination when his hour came. 

the man speaks — nothing about his tone garners promise. soto studies the cell, noticing pale furs shed along one corner. 

he unfolds himself slowly and begins to groom the slobber from his spine.