Firestone Hot Springs mare's milk

She dances out of reach, defiant. Slender she is, graceful, with youthful fullness and a narrow waist. Men would call her beautiful.

Jamukha makes no reply, save with his eyes. She already knows this answer. He doesn’t care to play the noble lord.

“To reach the silk road, you must first cross the Roof of the World. They are the highest mountains on earth, under the harshest conditions, and they are only passable in late summer.” Amusement ghosts his lips, but his eyes had grown flinty. “A mongol rides hard, and alone. You may come, Ātoztli.”

There are thousands of battleworn men with a thousand different strengths, and none that move with the accuracy of a moyol mercenary. In one deft thrust he had cut the water and pinned his desire between foreleg and stone. He holds her there, un-touching, picking out shards of muted light in the void of raven eyes. “But you pay my cost.”

His mouth curls cruelly.