Luneshale Pass your body laid out on these filthy floors

soto cannot help the way his neck cranes as he watches; it’s like a car crash, surreal in that he’s somehow on the outside looking in. 

forgetting for a moment he’s nearly as banged up as sangre. 

the cactus isn’t very useful. soto studies the woman’s face, reading frustration and concern there. but as she switches to common his understanding is lost. he only shakes his head and rolls his shoulders in defeat; he has no way to communicate. 

maybe sangre could fill in the blanks, if she even recovers at all. 

soto limps to the cactus and grimaces as he eats the pulpy meat inside. it tastes terrible but he knows he needs the caloric energy; things here are only going to get worse. 

he skulks back to sangre and sets besides her, grooming the blood from his pelt and studying the stranger; would she stay, or would she, along with the others, disappear into the shimmering sands?