Valley of Gold Son of Ra

The heat of the lowlands hung heavy, a golden haze rippling across the sand as the sun climbed high in the sky. Despite the faint bite of winter carried on the breeze, the desert basked in its eternal warmth.

Samirseti moved through the expanse with an easy grace, his ebony coat gleaming under the midday light, absorbing the sun's rays as if they were meant for him alone.

His head tilted upward, golden eyes half-lidded as he let the sun bathe his face. The faint nip of the season was nothing to him; the warmth more than compensated for its intrusion.

His tail swayed lazily behind him as his pace remained unhurried. His long, lanky frame slender and languid.

Alone again; nothing new, though Fable had somewhat hoped that Sockeye would stick around as the others before him had not. In the end, though, most people were much like places. They stayed in one spot their whole lives, in mind or body, and moving on meant leaving them behind.

Fable was most people.

He would never admit it, of course — but neither would he be responsible for holding anyone else back. There was more out there for men like Sockeye, more than Fable had to offer. So he was alone again, yes, but it was his own choice in a way. His own doing. Sockeye might have stuck around as the others had not, if only Fable had given him the chance. Now they would never know.

It was for the best, really. Bored as ever by the world and what it had to offer, Fable eyed the dark gilded figure from across the grassy plains without moving an inch from where he reclined. Already he was judging the man — and would continue to silently judge him until he moved on, all else being equal.

Samir’s leisurely pace slowed as his sharp gaze swept across the plains, golden eyes narrowing slightly against the sun’s bright glare. It was the faint shift of a figure on the horizon that first caught his attention—a wolf reclining in the grass, still as a statue. Samir paused, his ebony frame cutting a stark figure against the golden backdrop of the lowlands, and tilted his head with faint curiosity.

He considered the stranger from afar, his lips curling into a faint smirk that was equal parts intrigue and condescension. Such a posture spoke of boredom or disdain—or perhaps both.

Samirseti could sympathize.

Thus, he resumed his stride, more deliberate now, his steps carrying him closer to the lone wolf with an air of lazy confidence. When he was a mere few meters away, Samir halted, his golden eyes sweeping over the stranger’s form with a cool, assessing look.

His long legs folded beneath him as he, too, relaxed into a reclined position, letting his belly press to the frosted grass that sprouted across the desert.

He said nothing. Only laid in silence.