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Tlantli is by me!
The coyote nodded in response, and punctuated this agreement with a shrug that seemed to suggest indifference either way. What did she truly care for all the rank, ceremony, and false tradition -- tradition lauded as ancient, but not yet even a yearling -- of this place? If you do not want it, then it should go back for others to take, she said, simply, her smile less broad and more uncertain now. But decoration is important, no? If you want it for that, it should be yours. Decoration was an aspect of appearance, after all -- Tlantli did not ornament herself with scars and snakes simply because they were pretty, after all. Her decor carried with it a deep and resonant meaning.
Yes -- and that is maybe why you should take it, if you want it for decorating. No one will fault you for keeping up appearances, after all, the coyote said, her voice even of tone; her mind, in contrast, roiled at this statement. She had not kept up appearances, and she had paid for it dearly. Tlantli nodded in response to Isabella's answer, though her golden-hued muzzle showed the faintest hints of a frown. A month, and Tlantli was just now meeting her. Who else had snuck into Salsola while she slumbered?
My body did not travel -- my mind, though, the woman admitted, her air now one of indifference. She did not wish the other to think so much of her absence, though it was not something the yellow woman could easily conceal. It did not surprise her none of the others within this pack had spoken of her to Isabella -- why would they, after all? She was but a cog in the machine now, and she held no more import than a screw. Such things could be lost and the machine could still function, and -- sure enough, ere long, she would be replaced by some other little screw without second thought from the Colotl ranks. I think it was illness, the coyote confessed, though this was untrue. She knew the cause of her quiet months; she simply refused to admit them. The mind can grow weary, much like the body.
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