Foggy Bottom Way ratero

the woman spoke. wren's scent sparkled on the wind. akavir dragged her toward him. she tasted his fur, his breath; another time, another man, another bed. ramesses and his black-lined eyes; "vete a la mierda lejos de mí!" silvertongue screamed, and this time she snapped viciously for eye, for cheek, for brow, for ear, infuriated that he should come here, ignore her, touch her. "go to your fucking home," the sharpfang snarled, eyes dilated and teeth bare, on her feet now and scrabbling backward toward the stranger. "you have done enough!' a freshet of tears scudded down her face; she was breathless, shocked; akavir no longer respected her enough to refrain. had he ever? certainly not now; how could he when he knew the truth of how she had been pharaoh's whore? her eyes sliced now to wren, who deserved none of it but why was she here either? why did so many demand on taking so much from her? good foreleg, passed shaking over her dirt-stained brow; silvertongue knew she would regret her words if she spoke again, and now only swirled with some paroxysm of horror and hateful sickness.