Starglow Basin Man from Sayula

there's a man too close to encampment. soto watches him from a spire of shale, his frame concealed by the sun's high glare and long casting shadows.

he's in no position for petty territory disputes. plus, making oneself known defeats the purpose of lying low. sangre's still half dead. he's hardly any better.

vigilance, anticipation, and feeling like the last thread of an unraveling yarn have all done their mark to soto. he's exhausted, and hopes to whatever long dead and twice beheaded mexican goddess that this stranger just keeps on walking.