Dahozhoni Meadow Here where I once

in safiya, there is a shared code. not for him the softened beds, or the warm fireside. his lot in life runs leaner.

the long cold of the night-march.

the grit and dirt stuck beneath claws that will never wash clean of their grime.

the slow, baited breath of starvation --

such things he does not wish for safiya, but he sees it in that eye that sees nothing: her future. her end.

red as a summer night. glinting and cold as a lonely pearl.

in an eye's blink it all goes away. soto's close, the beaver's rounded back turned. and though he has lost many things, his stride does not falter as he springs from the reeds, a desire unspeakable ringing in that single golden eye;

it was too easy to kill. his jaws sluice with blood as he turns around, the squirming thing held between his jaws. and it is her face he holds in his vision now as the beaver squalls and kicks.

a dream where he holds her father's neck between his teeth --

he bashes the thing against the stone as if it were khusobek's own skull, panting as its body rips from his teeth and goes limb over tail towards safiya.