Lion Head Mesa borradura

were the boy just a little older — were they not on the final battlegrounds of his vanquished enemy — and were he not himself so seasoned a militant, soto might feel something akin to fear ice his veins at the young bruiser’s hostile display. 

but they stand on a razed kingdom where the sight of it tinges soto’s tongue with sweet victory. he has won, and no stormclad yearling could rob him of this triumph. 

porque eres demasiado joven para tomarlo en serio. ever one to deliver things plainly, soto’s golden eye simmers with the hard bite of truth. no hay nada que saber.

he spits at the ground between them, reproach curling the edge of his scarred gums. estaban aqui. raising his head to drink in the stench of rot and failure he speaks again: y ahora, no son nada.

he kicks contemptuously of the dirt and turns. this enemy may be undone, but many more wait to take its place.