Sunset Valley What the night brings.

“Is it that obvious?” She can barely stomach the horror— knowing she’s either painfully transparent or smells still like the bitter acid of sickness.
“Spirits,” the huntress swears beneath her breath, and runs her wrist fastidiously against the side of her face; clearing lips and teeth with a tongue. 
“I’m Ayovi,” she owns, though too embarrassed to test the air for the woman’s scent. She is grateful regardless that she appears more amused than repulsed, and her eyes hold the deep red a moment before continuing licks.
“From the north mountain,” she continues, “are you a member of Saatsine, Darukaal?”