he was tired of running.
how long had he been walking for? izaiah feels the heat burn against his skin, the sand and rock sinking beneath his feet. his eyes burn. his chest aches.
the aged face of his superior rolls back into the forefront of his memory yet again, the snakeskin-wearing fool. he is stupid for sending away his favorite pet; they both surely know this. but he knew izaiah well enough to know the boy took opportunity when it came to him.
and so here he was, ageless in this vast expanse of nothing — nothing, nothing, as it had been for miles. the desert he would come to know as the lowlands was now far behind him, and slowly the landscape began to shift; but still, not quite. the sand was not done with him yet.
he grimaces as a shallow wall of water begins to split the pale horizon in half. ah; he'd missed water! he shouts to himself in relief as he careens straight for the crystalline lip, dunking his face in it as if it would give him salvation — and in a way, it would, if only he knew what lied just a ways to the west.

for the first time in days, izaiah sees movement.
not just movement, but a person — a shadow, woven into the midnight that engulfs her, a little blackbird. she is too far away for him to make much out of her features, but he can see the bright pair of eyes, the sharp curves of her slender face.
she is small. fragile, if he had to guess. he could crush her into dust with one palm, and he was not exactly impressive in his own right. this intrigues him in a way he would never voice aloud.
they stare at each other for a while, as long as izaiah allows it to go on for, until he makes an advance — he dips a spindly forelimb into the current, letting it dangle over the edge. he wanted to know if she understood him; equal footing must be established before he is to let himself speak, for he is an alien even to himself.

for a while, she is reactionless. izaiah convinces himself for a moment that he must be dreaming; hallucinating a vision in the desolation he had faced thus far. his arm is removed from the river once more, and his tongue smooths over it in an attempt to dry himself off.
and then, she moves. she stills, drops to the ground, and then raises herself up again.
bewildered by this... perplexing behavior, a tiny huh? sounds from izaiah's lips. he squints, turning now so that his back is no longer facing her; preparing himself for an ambush, or perhaps something else. he's still not entirely sure this figure is real.
he clears his throat after the silence stretches far beyond his comfort level, one tall ear rotating to cup the side of his skull. my name is izaiah, he swallows his obvious accent, forcing the most neutral voice he can muster. who... are you?

unsure whether to be offended or not by the sudden way his question is thrown back at him, izaiah simply stares at the wild woman for a long, drawn-out pause. who was he? who was she?
if he were a better man, he likely would not be putting up with this lunatic, but here he is. he entertains her, expression shifting into a half-smile as he turns himself toward her so she may see him better. he is cast in the bluebeam of the serpent, seated tall and poised; the large ears twitch and flick toward sounds that are not there.
he's certainly somebody, he arches a brow as if to toy with her, and he finds himself amused by the anticipation of how she might respond. i come in search of a place called the red palace. my mentor sent me. do you know where i might be able to find that?

she approaches him further, slinking catlike until her muzzle rests right up beside his chin. instinctively, the skin around his nose wrinkles. izaiah longs to pull back and yet he doesn't. he is still, as if she had turned him to stone. a rumble breaks from the dark throat.
she is confusing. in some way, alluring.
had he hands, he would be tightening his collar, perhaps dusting them outside of his pockets. hassan ibn-nazih. a doctor of the minya district, the hazel eyes are hard and inquisitive, searching the small face, looking. she does not deny her knowledge of this place's existence, and so he continues to press onward. he says there is a queen here who i am to serve. can you take me to her?
breath caught stiffly in the man's throat, izaiah turns his head slightly away; not far enough to where the warmth of her lips is distant, but enough to create mystery, space, intrigue. push and pull. perhaps there is a strategy here. you still haven't told me your name.

was this how they all spoke and acted out here? perhaps izaiah should familiarize himself with it, this strange, thick sense of discomfort. he does not react further to her.
hassan was fucking batshit for throwing him to the wolves like this.
there's a sharp intake of air and a soft blink before he meets her eyes again. he is patient. perhaps too much so. pharaoh, yes, his tongue slips from between his lips in order to wet them. you heard me correctly. i'd like to meet her.
one paw slinks up into the air and snakes beneath her jaw, seeking to cup her face in his grasp. he is entertained. his lips curl into a devilish shit-eating grin. would you like that?

only one way to find out, yeah?
a laugh purls from deep in izaiah's chest, almost taunting with its graceful, dark notes. it's as if she is transfixed by him. why him, he did not understand — if one were to ask him, he would likely call himself a boring, disheveled boy who hardly even qualifies as a man.
izaiah, the spindly, shell-shocked son. izaiah, the last remaining child who had taken part in the eucharist. izaiah, the boy with clipped wings. izaiah who came to pharaoh only with bags beneath his eyes and a tender hope that she will deem him worthy.
but she, this nameless girl, does not know this. that story does not matter to her. this both excites and terrifies him.
if she will not name herself, he will have to think of one for her. 'eynyym m'evshnvt, he whispers it, the pseudonym for the mystery girl, and where his palm once was at her jaw is now a cold and empty space. are you gonna keep messing with me? i'm more than happy to stand here and waste your time.