Luneshale Pass colina

once on the shores of his home soto had watched something improbable crawl out of a conch. he knew instinctively this creature was not native to it, but made its home there among the spirals.

the creature, if it could be called that, was a delirious riot of both substance and unsubstance. it was liquid shape. it crawled and dragged but it had eight supple limbs. the surface of its skin was glossy radiance as it coalesced ever-changing in a thousand jagged colors.

he’d thought that creature was a hallucination taken flesh; he wondered if the green took hold of leto in a similar way.

she speaks, the end of her sentence a clear inquiry. he doesn’t know what’s being requested of him, but the good news for leto was soto had no plans of leaving now that the green has done its work.

once again, his gaze passes over hers in a shark’s china-doll hunger; no warmth, just want.

she drifts to sleep eventually, leaving the anaconda to tighten his hefty coil around her.