Firestone Hot Springs gibbous

anoré halts—not sharply, but like a blade easing to stillness after a clean strike. the pause hangs heavy, pregnant with meaning, but it is not silence that follows. her neck turns only halfway, enough to glance at atoztli from the corner of one steely eye.
her gaze doesn't flare with shock, nor does it soften, "did i kill him?" she repeats, but not as a question. more like she was testing the weight of the words in her mouth. a breath passes and her jaw sets. then, "no. not with claw or fang, if that is what you mean." her voice lowers like dusk descending over the hills.
another pause, this one quieter, almost thoughtful, "there are many ways to kill a man, some without blood." she adds, voice rough like bark stripped from winter trees, "and he'd died the day i left." then, as if the confession cost her nothing—and everything—she moves again.
"did you leave because of the men?" she asks, "to search for a new life?"