Lion Head Mesa flax [m]

satsu dines slowly upon the quail. she spends more time plucking at the feathers; the smell of the meat has turned her stomach. maybe the mention of crowfeather, too.
what is she like? this qiao.
smoothly pushing aside the meal, satsu stretches her lithe little body and shows herself off, sighing indulgently.
thinking wistfully of belen; feeling warmth across her face.