Smother
I just love the field.
It is like Christmas, all these presents laying around with no name tag. You get to judge on outer wrapping and the size of the package, you get to leave lots or pick lots. You can have a holly jolly holiday all in an hour should you please.
Which is why I am making more of an effort to treat myself. After all I do deserve a little more recognition in the Jungle and I won’t get that basking in the sun all hours of the day (though as a cold blooded reptile shifter, it is preferable).
Turkish is resting in a wrap around my neck, his head resting comfortably on my withers. He, on the other hand, would much rather bask in the sun than gain a little brownie point.
And then, I see the perfect opportunity.
The girl is skin and bones, though I am not much of a sympathizer. I had been homeless for years and yet I remained a fancy figure. No, what intrigues me is a man stalking her like a cougar on the trail of a doe. What sparks my interest is the fact I could be her saviour from this thirsty brute.
Well, you say saviour, I say doubled intentions but really, who is even listening to me.
“Hello,” I vocalize as I become within speaking distance, I feel Turkish tighten around my neck as he watches the stallion. Turkish hates males, maybe because of what they have done to me or perhaps because they all seemed as honest as a boy in church, but again… who am I to judge?
“I am Smother, from the Amazons.”
