Luneshale Pass fear the reaper

muchos, soto informs, drawing his paw back and shaking the dirt from it. 

disa’s gaze holds true to the mound. soto’s single eye roves over her, then back to the dirt. he senses an undercurrent in her; one he’d sensed before in brothers too angry with their lot in life. 

but he is in no mood to recount ghost stories. his tail sweeps across his hip as a book might clap shut. tu tambien las tendras. in afterthought he tacked on in coarse english: you have them soon, too.

if she did not already. the flinty burn in her eye tells him something follows her, however dark.