Luneshale Pass your body laid out on these filthy floors

there’s a moment of suspension where he thinks he’s made a grave error. 

but the woman digs in, pelt smeared in grit and blood. 

she emerges sheathed in dark matter and speaks a word soto knows; it’s a spoken with a hard edge, but he knows it. 

water. how can he get this?

he skulks out at a stiff cliff. a saguaro cactus is all he can find - there’s water but no way to return it. moss is as inefficient a vessel as any. 

he wraps broad leaves around the saguaro stem and pulls. the leaves shelter him from the cactus’ spines, but he’s slow as he returns. 

he almost dreads returning, fearing seeing sangre had taken her last breath while he was gone.