Lion Head Mesa drivolat vroz

Finally, finally he was given a meal. Over-ripe fruit is tossed from the plinth above, landing near to his face. He is thankful for it, but more-so for the scattered clouds and the dropping humidity; and when Drusk rises, he takes to the fruit with an animate greed. Nothing remains after a few noisy moments of consumption.

Overhead, upon the stone slab that serves as the viewing space for those of the palace, there are a new set of eyes watching him; kohl-lined, bright. Mazoi flank this individual on either side and fellahin stand just behind, heeled, with large boughs as carried shade for the woman—yes, it is a woman who stares at him now.

Not the Tiger from before.

He rumbles, Yeri vod-khasar akkat vitihirat adakhat. Qemmemmo.... The words are slurred together in some aspects, and crackle from his dry tongue despite the pulp of the fruit giving him some desperately needed fluids.

her anger with him has abated some, but not enough that she would free him. he had intimidated her people, and he had intruded upon her lands—and now he faced the consequence. 
she thought she might feel good, to see it. to see him suffer as he had perhaps hoped to see her people suffer with his actions. but her stomach sank, and she felt rather ill. there was something familiar about him, something wild and rugged that she felt she had seen before too—it did not help. 
bring him finer food and drink, she commanded in another foreign language taught—and it was done at once. his crude words were heard, but whether they were understood or not he would not know from her features. they were schooled to placid stillness. despite her concern toward him, she at least remembered why he was there. 
now she spoke in words perhaps he might know, a tongue she had been told by her tutors was one that was universal across all cultures. now, she would test this: can you understand me? her words were slow, and soft.

cameo!!!

sullen yellow hues had been unfocused until a familiar sight caught their attention. racharra realized where and why she sat upon the plateau within a small crowd. the husk of her brother had been dragged out from the pit, and the nebet can feel sweat beginning to cling to her brow. if her kohl smudges, she could care less.

he mumbles uselessly in a tongue none could understand. Pharoah is kind but stern. she prays, uselessly, that nothing be done to him today. that he may behave.
but drusk has done wrong, just as much as the wrong that has been dealt to him.
do they know? did anyone ever ask his name?
as food is brought to the starving boy, she waits at the edge of her seat, glancing towards toula to see what would occur next.

The one that spoke to him now held a firm bearing, but softness lilt within her voice. She could not have been a woman yet; she seemed so small beneath the waving boughs, so bright despite the shade. That it had not occurred to anyone that the captive was ignorant about languages, peoples, and this royal aspect the girl held would only lead to further issues.

Then she spoke with another voice, this one carrying words that were almost like the words of the mountain; and when Drusk felt compelled to spew vitriol back, he found no energy left with which to do so. A great shuddering sigh heaved through him.

His was a language of beasts and beastly men.

Toula looked to his features, though could not discern whether or not he did or did not understand. it would not do for him to understand and be quietly collecting intelligence, but… were he not to, then it was no wonder he had not said a word to them that any could interpret! 
despite being announced, she did not think he understood. but she had heard stories of feral men and women—the first men and women of the wilds. he was like them, she thought. not entirely wordless, but essentially just that when none could understand. so she stands tall, tail over her hips, becoming something before even the first women—the Goddess that created them!
she gestures to herself, standing tall, and says, Pharaoh. a name for him to know her. now she gestures to him, and tilts her head, wondering if he would understand without words and only actions what she asked: his own name.

The boy had not even noticed that he was removed from the pit; that the woman stood on the plinth, but he saw it from a different angle entirely. She spoke and he slowly took notice; realizing, she must have been trying to get a name from him.

Hadn't he already answered this question? The Tiger Woman, she had—curious. She had not shared the information.

Pharaoh motioned to herself, then to him.

Rakhvazzo. It was what the mountain people called him. The only thing he had ever responded to.

she knew, even if she behaved she did not, the things in which she was told and beyond that, the things that were whispered from the sharp ear of fellahin—each thing now was measured, each thing intentional, curious to see what he would build with her. if the additional food and drink might make him more amenable, more forthcoming—more verbal, in the way he could be, 
Rakhvazzo, she repeats, gaze searching, wondering the way in which to ask of him what she wished to know. was he sent here to kill? to pilfer? it had not been once that he had come here, after all. but they would get no answers if he died, and they would get only lies if he was tortured. would anyone not say anything to be freed of that? eat, please, she invited, and to show him what she meant, she took a bite of what was offered to him where she stood. it is no command, not now—but she wondered if even still he would not listen to spite her.

Wary as he might be, the so-called Rakhvazzo was desperately hungry. The girl offered him more than anyone else had in days, and showed what she meant; and even as she nibbled, he was reaching. Grappled to the offered meal, the boy was fiendish as he consumed. Most of the meal was dry meat and would have typically required chewing—but as soon as it was behind his teeth he was forcing it down, and reaching for fruit, or fish, or whatever had been placed before him.

When he was finished (only because there was nothing left, moments later) he sat there panting, or licking salt from his lips. Wondering in those moments, what does she want? For, despite all of the questions posed to him so far by many voices, he had no understanding.

It was easy to presume his captivity was a side effect of being caught, but why hold him? Why feed him now? If this had occurred upon the mountain then the horse lords would have his tongue and made him bend to their pleasures; here, he was kept and could not fathom why.

Kill him or set him free—what else was there?

they ate in silence. she needed some of his wits about him—for she intended to learn from him. understand him. friends close, potential enemies closer—that, she had learned. 
she looked to the fellahin and said, water. enough to wet his tongue well so he can bathe, if he wishes, and then she says to him, after another bite of food, eat… eat? a tilt of her head. would he know she was asking for his own word for what they two then did? she sought to measure his own intelligence.

Pharaoh spoke and the boy squinted at her, not understanding—he knew it was an order and moments later, saw how the little thief-dogs which had lured him to the mesa moved, skittering, to obey. He was intrigued; and as he drank, the girl said, eat.

His ears flattened back. It was obvious what she was trying to do. For his own sake it would be beneficial if he could communicate; and because she appeared to be an authority here, there was value in appeasing her.

Adakhat, he rumbles as a fellahin hastily places a meat offering within his range, and as he scythes towards it with gnashing teeth he nearly clips them too. He eats frantically, bits of his meal flying to the dirt, then noisily slurped up.

Adakhat—eet. Eet.