Spotted Eagle Mountain Sad nights linger through the blackness of a hound.

His outburst told her all she needed to know about him. The leap he'd made gave the indication he knew of medicine, but nothing specific. His assumption was wrong. His evident abhorrence - his reaction and backpedalling - made her emphatically roll her eyes.

No, not worms, she states sharply. A small huff punctuates the moment, and then her voice is discoloured by a fresh disgust as she elucidates: Clearly your parents did not educate you on the birds and the bees...? I refer to the parasitical nature of pregnancy. You know, the aftermath of a man's lust? Speaking of this was frustrating. Stryx shakes her head as she concludes.

I chew these buds whenever I find them, she motions to the ruined weeds, the slovenly scatter of half-chewed purple wads she'd spat out in her surprise. Now, do you need something, or are you going to continue harassing me?