Sunset Valley find me in a place among my brethren

satori.
the name was foreign in nature on his tongue, but it suited her, he thought. it had him thinking of the whitest of rose petals, the milkiest of hues that a mother's milk could provide. a strife of hunger scourged him, enrapturing him far down under in her golden, molten hues.
a flick of his ear.
it doesn't seem wrong to me.
a lick of his lips, again, the cold air seeming to bite at him. that, or his body was filling with heat at her presence. man can survive alone.
but it is not what he wanted. faust was not a sedentary man— he coveted more in numbers, but there was a folly to purse through.
others get in the way.