Storm Watch Butte como la flor

Ximena's golden eyes narrowed against the storm as she watched the stranger approach. He was a curious sight, pale and stark against the raging backdrop of sand, his movements deliberate yet desperate. The corner of her lips quirked into a faint smile, one that hinted at amusement despite the biting wind.  

As his voice reached her, muffled by the storm, she tilted her head, the faintest of shrugs rolling off her shoulders. Claro, she murmured under her breath, though she doubted he could hear her. She wasn’t one to follow orders, but the shelter he gestured to seemed practical enough.  

Her movements were slow, deliberate, as she trailed after him, her form cutting through the sand with practiced ease. When they reached the overhang, she shook the sand from her coat, each motion sharp and precise. You don’t seem to belong here, hermoso, she said, her tone light but laced with observation, as if she were assessing him.  

Her gaze lingered on him, studying his green eyes and his ragged breath. The sands don’t care how tough you think you are. They’ll grind you down, piece by piece. She chuckled softly, her voice smooth despite the storm. But you might make it through, if you learn to move with them instead of fighting against them.