Ocean's Breath Plateau scarabs

for a time the profile of the priest turned to the giant trees which towered over he and machiavelli. "i do not know if they still live. i expect they do. a runner would have found me by now." guilt flickered serpent's-tongue in the bright viridian sea of his gaze when the fellahin found it again. "i do not go back because i sense the rift between us now is so great i would as well be foreign."

and perhaps he did not want to sit in the humble homes of his brothers and sisters, eating the lovely and simple fare which had always sustained senmut; not for their humbleness, not for the simplicity, but for the ache that the image of warm family always conjured in his soul. pihuri and aamose would have become grandparents a dozen times over by now. their small home would be filled with young children and visiting relatives.

senmut saw no place for himself. it was not a denial of their love, only his place at their side any longer.

"you built yourself into nobility," the priest went on, taking up the trail of their adjoining discourse. "i will wait to hear how you came to the desert," he quipped with a little twist to his lip, "if you tell me now that you will not envy me any longer." a jest; a tease; he pressed with a humour.

a call, rising from the shoreline for the prince. senmut flicked ears with a wry expression.