Starglow Basin destripado

the bruja comes to him. hobbling. bristling.

he can still see out of the corner of his eye those writhing things he first saw in khusobek's cellar.

he does not like her, or trust her, but sangre needs her. and so, he reluctantly kept her fed, and listened -- belabored at times -- to the incessant prattling of her hateful tongue.

and while he has no inkling of what each word means, the spiteful way in which she spits them out as if uttering them sours her tongue -- ah, he knows a witch's hate when he hears it.

callarse. he snaps at her face, a show of teeth to subdue her. he does not like the way her eyes trail over his face, as if waiting for something to happen.

he supposes that she, like nokht, is wondering when verapaz will have bled them dry of their use.

if he has his way, it will be soon. the only good witch is a dead witch, and soto is anxious to see this one put deep underground.