Sunset Valley Pǎnakär

“My savior?” She interjects, “he tried to kill me. Same as you.” Her head lowers, hackles stiffen; body a streamlined arrowhead setting its trajectory into the shadowed man.
In spite of everything, her traitorous body deceives, heightened by him. Heightened, even, by Skorpa’s rotting scent as it trickles down into the vale where it blusters between them. Ayovi’s fear of herself then was far greater than either man. She glares at Faust coldly.
“Why? You think how I look at you will change? I don’t want your apologies. I want you to stay the hell away from me.” She spins, presenting her back and flicked ears listening for footfalls.