Starglow Basin Terrible things

children were her greatest—and perhaps only—weakness. perhaps it was because she was a woman, and her femininity barred her from the kind of callous attitude with which these men had treated the boy. just the thought that her own womb could bear fruit, and said fruit could then be plucked from her at a moment's notice. . .

it was with this somber mien that she entered the dugout, giving the captive a gentle smile. the others were away, patrolling or creating the concoctions that had apparently gained them such notoriety.

she hadn't tried green yet. perhaps she never would. she needed her wits about her if she was to hang with this bunch.

hello, fiamma murmured, folding down to sit near the boy. come stai—how are you feeling?

probably a silly question; he looked absolutely miserable, and the worse for wear. how did one even begin to address a child in such straits? 

but she was curious about what had transpired between this ragtag bunch and those they'd battled. it was possible that the boy knew nothing at all, and had merely been caught in the middle of some blood feud—a tinderbox set alight.

outside, black vultures circled some dead or dying thing, casting long shadows upon the dusty basin bottom.