Two Eyes Cenote esquina

how hard would it be to pry the shell open? soto moves towards it when he hears the subtle clatter of dirt on sandpack; he whirls, coming eye to eye with safiya. 

she sits catlike in the halls of her ancestors. was there analogue for him? what did his hall look like, where had his ancestors lived and breathed and worshipped?

he grunts in acknowledgment, gaze roving to the mudpacked wound on her limb. injuries would do no good to soldiers; he wished he’d been there to silence the boar. just rack it up as another failing of his by her. 

safiya. he greets, inviting her to fall in step with him. que tal?