Lion Head Mesa Was-sceptre

Attn: @Toula @Khaemwaset Senmut @Athamas Silvertongue Khusobek @Safiya @Meseba Tavina @Machiavelli @Dionysus @Nazli Racharra @Briar Cayde @Mesen-ka @Den Ibrahim Neith Satakhetem Taliba @Inji @Tiye @Aiesha @Nokht

arrival of Muat-riya to Akashingo <3

The mazoi had seen each alcove emptied; every last denizen of the cenote fitted with their belongings and put upon the passage into the North. Journeying was slow, children hindered their pace and the king found himself growing irrepressibly restless.

When the wind blew down from kintla, the air smelled of allspice and lotus milk even here, three miles from the Mesa. Semer-wati saw it anew, lancing the belt of flatlands like the construct of man. He could close his eyes and still see it as the scepter of red, grander than any stone castle known to Pharaoh’s past.

The hot gaze drifted to Toula where she sat proudly upon the shoulders of her mazoi. The mother would want to see how her children had grown, but it was important she make immediate contact with Senmut. Rashepses instructed a pair of fellahin to hasten ahead and inform the Erpa-ha, though his heart ached too to see their sons and daughters.

As they set foot upon the kingdom one of the royal guards hailed them heartily. The mazoi lowered Pharaoh to her paws and the King stepped in to receive her.

she was carried over the sands by strong and able-bodied wolves who did not flinch (at least, not in her face!) to lift her and return her home. they were followed by their people, and her heart longed to see children fiercely before anything else. the familiar scents of home warmed her, and she imagined their faces awaiting them! 
but it was early when they arrived, before even the sun had risen. they would be asleep—Toula was warmed further of the thought of greeting Ra with them, a surprise! 
she was lowered to the earth, and there was her husband—Toula thought of all that he had done for her, and was moved. she reached forward to kiss him gently upon his lips, though she lingered for a moment—a promise wrapped in yearning singed her gaze when turquoise met gold. 
she turned to those watching, and waiting. rest, she willed, voice warm, there is much to come, but for now, let us thank Khonsu for our safe passage. be at ease, she encouraged. her eyes traced the faces of her people, searching for something among them. she did not know what. she wore a brave face, for she hoped to soothe her people—but she was unsettled! 
the Gods leaned ever closer. she could feel Their gaze.

nazli! nazli! senmut stood poised at the head of the red land as muat-riya descended upon akashingo.

he saw the familiarity of their faces, their fear, their exhaustion. and among them, it was the godhead which commanded his eye. on soft approach he came, bowing low before pharaoh. "akashingo rejoices at your safe return."

his obedience also for rashepses, though he did not dare focus upon semer-wati for now. "your children wait for you in the throne room, Divinities," he murmured to them both.

please! do not speak of tavina! and machiavelli's words danced harmfully in his mind. how had pharaoh allowed this to happen?

as akashingo entered their view, tavina began to dread. her belly clenched; she tried to look beyond the guards.

by now, surely, toula knew of her fate. but not so much as a golden look did she receive from the young ruler she had once whelped, and so the sesh understood truly she was alone.

making of herself nursemaid and caretaker, tavina ensured the mazoi would not drag her off. but as muat-riya decamped, as they began to settle and gather, as senmut approached the royal pair, it was all she could to keep from violently shaking.

oh, eset! eset! stay far away from here.

with each step, khusobek grew emptier.

everything he had been was gone. everything he would be was formless.

he moved in rote ways. he forgot nothing. he said little.

khusobek did not even notice tavina's fear as he carried bundle after bundle into the palace.

the one-eyed mazoi, having just returned from akashingo where he'd escorted machiavelli to find that eset had not returned. and now, he was heading back. his future, his fate: whether punishment would befall him or not and to what severity it would be lingers heavy in meseba's mind. in his shoulders, held proud but weighted by the press of the unknown.

endlessly, he worried for eset. she should've beaten him back to the cenote. she should've been there: but she had not been.

thoughts plague him like an unyielding ouroboros; a thousand yard stare clouding his singular gaze as he stands, with no belongings, waiting instructions.

rest was but a fantasy and not one that meseba could allow himself to divulge in.