Two Eyes Cenote cuento

A man who did not speak their language. Or chose not to.

No inch of Soto remained unseen that was not the curve into his now filled stomach. Jagged nails, violent sun eyes. Thick fur. An appetite that ate starved even if not starving, and Legend's own devil eyes twisted into something more coiled.

Again. Again. Again. The woman wanted to toss more meat into the kennel and watch the cell man scarf down flesh again. By all means, Soto was theirs, Muat-riyas, Akashingo's, and that meant araña's. Hers. Khusobek couldn't take him from her! She could water him, feed him, take him on walks.

Then, a pout grew on that lazy, inky maw. Why was Soto there? As if the man could understand a word, the woman babbled on to herself. "Why here? How he end up? Khukhu drag him in?" And what could be a better nickname, also, for the mazoi? "Soso.." But Soso sounded more like a nickname for Soto. Lost for a moment, and then her eyes again centered back on the prisoner. That pout turned into a frown, a whine of a hum, and the yaret stayed overhead to watch. Pity, pity. Soto, Soto. Pet of a pet.