Sunspire Mountains all the butterflies have turned to vultures in my stomach

well thank heavens he didn't ejacluate when she touched him, then, and pray he didn't have some sort of disfigured oedipus complex fermenting with his puberty.

she didn't pull away when he jumped, but she hid a tiny, self-gratifying smirk. wielding power over men was her leisure, but maybe fortunately for riley, she still just saw him as a boy, and the fact that her shit-stirring behavior happened to coincide with his new hobby of pissing off strangers was just a favorable circumstance. 

her eyes perused forward as she felt his glance canvass the finer details of her face, lids reducing to slits. "so," she couched in a 'i can't stand the silence any longer' huff of breath, "red scar, red sands. i'm no expert, but that sounds like wastelands. unconventional place for a wolf to live, much less thrive," esmé remarked, turning a skeptical eye to the yearling: aka you're soon to be a feast for the crows, but that's none of my business.