Storm Watch Butte Melbourne

margarida had not expected to find another here. her pale limbs carried her softly through the butte, dark eyes sweeping each ridge and shadow with quiet curiosity. the air smelled of dust and vulture, but also of him—rich musk, heavy, like stormclouds rolling over stone.

she paused when her gaze caught him. broad, red hide marked by cream and black, a man who seemed to carry the weight of mountains upon his shoulders. there was something tired in the way he held himself, though his frame was anything but weak.

with a gentle bow of her narrow head, magui let her voice come smooth, polite, touched with her lilting tongue.

boa tarde, senhor, she greeted softly, her plume-tail lowering in courtesy. i did not mean to intrude. i only came to see these lands.

dark lashes lifted once, studying him—this wall of a man—and then away again, modest and careful. they are beautiful, não?