Qeya River that wears the crown

his complaints would fall on deaf ears; she was not worried that her husband would appear from the reach, dire smug look on his face— no, she was worried about others who'd find them oh, so, vulnerable!

a ruler she once was, a tyrant she will not be. when they reached the bed of her supplies, she began to chew a dried clump of oils to a paste. she forced him to sit down with the jut of her head.

outsiders cannot see if saatsine weak, she uttered, working hastily around the scabbing. chieftain do not tolerate weakness. it would appear as though her own common tongue would falter, hesitate to slip from her lips as she'd been so accustomed to lanzadoii.

lathering to paste of his eye with a single swipe of her tongue, she'd wrap the rest of him in moss. every where there had been blood, replaced by the mucking green of the forests.

do you understand this?