Luneshale Pass your body laid out on these filthy floors

she was somewhat surprised when he left and returned quickly with a bit of cactus. she noted the moisture at the edge of the plant; it seemed to be a kind of vessel for at least some water. with murmured thanks, she took the cylinder, grimacing at the prickling of spines along her muzzle, and tipped it into sangre's slightly gaping mouth.

unfortunately, most water seemed to pour right out, slipping from the slack tongue onto the sand. frustrated, fiamma cast the saguaro bit aside and gritted her teeth, her gaze like the blue heart of a flame as she stared down at this unexpected patient.

i can't do more, fiamma said, switching over to common tongue and looking at soto. i'm not a healer. ora tocca al destino.

it would be a miracle if this young woman pulled through—but her breathing and heart rate had evened out, and the muscle spasms had eased. perhaps she would, indeed, survive the night.

chi ha fatto questo? she asked, stepping away from sangre's limp form. she was liberally coated in hot, heady crimson, and her nose wrinkled at the smell. so different was the smell from prey-blood, and it only reminded her of her mother. . .

it was all she could do not to outright retch, and she bit her bottom lip against the impulse.