Lion Head Mesa plumes

the way he looked at her had never failed to make her fret and fidget. it had been this way since their meeting. she had grown accustomed to avoiding his stare, or finding value in the presence of others to direct his eye, but the eye trained now upon her and her only.
the intensity was all in her mind, satsu reminded herself; ramesses liked pretty things and things he could use, and she had fulfilled that vision as much as she was able, but not to the quota he was used to.
and they were alone together.
drinking, even!
where was jawahir? or maggie; oh, but she remembered. she remembered and so she reached for more.
her aim was slightly off and the sight of her body weaving where before she had been so self assured made her smile wide and genuine, and laugh, girlish and bright, at once.
my father, he gave apples and cherry wine to peasants for their work, she lightly drawled.
to the samurai went the sake. he forbade his daughters, the more she thought of him and voiced her memory, the weaker her smile became; but the more she ate, and soon enough satsu could feel her skin humming.