Lion Head Mesa glory & garbling

Far more than twice—I'm certain it is not too difficult to imagine there were times I was defiant—when I refused and deserved punishment myself, a small laugh pushed past the strange quirking tightness in his throat. After a time, the pounding in my heart had no longer been that of disgust or fear, but desire. I am not certain when the change occurred, only that it did—and that was a much easier feeling to comprehend. He paused, shimmering opal still transfixed, although much of the darkness had been replaced with something secretive. Is that something you understand?

His head ached then, and he stood, turning to the stream to cleanse the taste of the meal and drink from his mouth, silent as he fell into pondering over Khusobek's own confession. His only sound a "tsk" at the admittance of Soto's reciprocated pleasure. The beast should have known death then. And what did you mean him to be for it?

The dog's head lifted, pale and shimmering with dancing light as he wiped dripping water from his jaw. How do you propose to do that? he asked, ears pricking to catch the expected apology.