Firestone Hot Springs mare's milk

leaving so soon? atotzli pouts, sharing one last look of kinship with the woman who made her preferences clear. arrested by intrigue, atoztli decides this one is worth pursuing later. 

don’t drown him. a fluttering laugh; was it so obvious? safe travels, stranger. she rejoins as the woman’s willowy figure disappears into the gloom.

back to the man; loose-limbed and steeped in his own masculinity. she appreciates the ardent muscles; that blackened crook of shadows marking the pocket between shoulder blades.

you would not know it. and that is as much the man would wrestle from her. it’s his job to be gregarious and open — hers to be coquettish and private. yet, if the women of his homeland were as he described, atoztli was outmatched.

she could not say she favored women being likened to horses — having only learned of their existence a few weeks prior, atoztli found them bizarre. she wondered, mostly, what they tasted like.

you say marriage conditions. easy and hard. how many wives does a man like you have? in her estimation the measure of a culture was in how it treated its women. she wished to hear more of it, portrayed in the sultry timbre of his voice.

remaining where she sat among the reeds, atoztli took one thin stalk and spanned the waters with barbel end. meeting his gaze once, she smiled again. you did not say your name.