Luneshale Pass figlia

fiamma, soto greets in a near-jovial purl, the humor in his glinting gaze stilling as she doesn't move.

he steps close. by now she should have noticed him and lifted from the ground.

no, a sharp inhale scraping his throat as he nudges her and feels unnatural rigidity along her skin.

soto cuts back another gasp as he walks around her reaching limbs and sees writ across her face the handiwork of an asp: putreous, swollen face, kill-marks streaking down her cheek.

this is all the fucking witch's fault.

no. ay, fiamma. the strength in his limbs gives out.

soto buries his head into the stillness of her spine.

---

he buries her at luneshale's highest promontory. he packs stone over her grey body and chokes back a wail of agony. his captain.

he would miss the stern glint in her eyes, the no-nonsense efficiency of her presence.

another stone for the cairn.

he would miss her scent woven into luneshale's boders.

another stone for the cairn.

he would miss the tending of her garden; those saplings brought to improbable life by her careful curation.

another stone for the cairn.

when he was done rocks of every color piled around her body and over it, chest-height and foreboding.

 he cursed the desert, he cursed the snake, and he cursed the fucking witch --

that night he sent for @Kemal and informed him to watch leto and her children. don't send for me, he cautioned the guardian.

and then under the solemn face of a lonesome moon, soto departed luneshale.