Sunset Valley i make the money, not wash the clothes.

He was not interested. Indra was happy not to explain; she didn't think he would care much about her life story to begin with, and she could only remember some things, and refused to think of others. Better to forget. I got yew now. A rare sentimentality clawed its way up Indra's throat, at that.

She put distance to her thoughts. Send them further afield than she dared venture, metaphorically, so that she could focus upon what mattered: food, drink, sleep. Her path cut across the tail of Colt's own, then veered back again.

Something spooked. A small body ricocheted away from the undergrowth by Indra's feet and towards Colt, then shot away again as if it were rebounding off of his shadow. Indra was tense when she spotted it and as the shape returned her way, she moved to intercept — and back, again, it went, to Colt.