Starglow Basin [m] look what you [m]ade me do

her heat was dwindling, and she could not stand to wait.

reeking of a desire older than the molecules that made up her bones, she marched up to @Soto's nearest location and called for the man, tail flagging behind her, insistent. she deserved nothing but the best, and within verapaz's hierarchy, the ragged mercenary was the best.

she would have him one way or another; if he would not come to her, she would come to him.

while she waited, fiamma paced, ribcage heaving with long, deep breaths. she licked her lips frequently; they dried quickly in this desert air. 

the time was growing short.

she could not wait.

she calls, and she appears.

she is spitfire made steel. forged mercury routed in damascus grey. a mercenary, come to claim his spoils.

and why should she not have them? there is little about her drab.

soto pans his single eye to her, allowing the scent of her season to wreath around him like plumes of heady smoke.

two eyes met one. she smiled at his approach, coming closer and circling his form like a housecat 'round a table leg.

soto, fiamma told him, voice low. capo. i've been waiting for you.

she chose each word very carefully, including the title she used. osiel was gone; soto was top dog here, now. he, alone, had stuck to the cartel from the start; he, alone, deserved the respect a leader should command.

the woman stopped, hips at his right shoulder, and looked over her own to regard him with a playful yearning.

fai l'amore con me, she said—

it wasn't a request, but a command.

She had no desire to join Verapaz but her son wanted to stay a little longer. So they stayed, on one condition: the two of them camped out nearby rather than intrude. This meant nearly daily forays to the basin, though Towhee didn’t mind, so long as she was there to supervise.

Naturally, Bushtit ran off at the earliest opportunity today. She wanted to chase after him, though her leg hurt too much and, besides, he was grown enough to explore on his own. Soto and his wolves weren’t a danger to her their son, as far as she could tell.

When the unmistakable scent of a woman’s season hit her nose, Towhee wondered if that’s where she might find her wayward boy. Was he off humping some stranger’s leg? Okay, probably not… but she zeroed in on the scent, tracking it down to its source: Fiamma.

Soto was there too. Towhee’s ears drew backward as her orange gaze slid from man to woman, then back again. Was this awkward? Good, she thought, narrowed eyes fixing on Soto as she waited to see what he would do.