Golden Glade demuts

a good death, claims the mountaineer. atoztli doesn't doubt it. if only they all could be so lucky.

she steps back from the auburn body, expression speculative.

where i come from, there are creatures like these but different. guanaco. taller. slim. she motions to the spiraling protuberance no horns

but they are fast. they run, she makes a motion with her paw and laughs, as one does when acknowledging the futile. they have thick skin on their necks and it is not so easy, not to say this one had been simple! her gaze flickers to qvasir, measuring. so we run them off cliffs. they flee and they fall. the teeth of the valley do the work. i am thinking, is not so good death to be guanaco.