Storm Watch Butte A little party never killed nobody.

too many language divides. too many barriers.

soto watches the amazon's face shift in a kaleidescope of emotion. as she nudges her son awake and prepares to leave, he studies the shift in fiamma, too.

just enough of a shared language here to understand fiamma in a piecemeal sort of way. dile, dice -- some other words that might pass as his own if his mouth was full of rocks.

now all three leave, and soto is alone. still no sangre, and a thinning thread of hope.

it's not all bad, juarez consoles as he wraps an arm around the shoulder of his brother. you get to watch their asses as they go.