Lion Head Mesa ساخط khasara

akashingo silhouetted by the setting sun. the cool breath of evening settling across the steppe as they climbed, swift, silent, until the palace was in view. jawahir slunk through the deepening shadow and with a twist, entered the subterranean halls.
along the corridor they crept. the air was still—there was no laughter from the pharaoh's quarters.
as jawahir passed the ascendant's chosen sleeping place, they took care not to look towards the watchful guard, nor stray too close.
the desire to see someone familiar brought the mumis to maggie's door. the stench of sickness was fading; their tall ears shifted with unease, but there was no sign of breath. gone?
tight-lipped and grimacing, jawahir thought to move on, and yet lingered.

Subterranean life was new to Jihaya, but it was a welcome shield from the exposed mesa’s landscape. Down here it wasn’t too hot or cold and the many pockets of stone could hold countless warriors and their attendants.

In the dim light, a creature lingered. They cut a familiar shape – small and leggy. Sihaya’s ears cupped forward, curious about the many coyotes. “Is your name Crowfeather?” Jihaya asked as he slunk closer to better know his cohort.

Sayf sometimes spent his time watching Jawahir from the shadows. He was curious about what he could always see turning in their mind. It wasn't often it was just the two of them, and so he fought with the urge to show himself, assuming they didn't already know he was there. 

But tonight, the urge was too strong; the look on their face eviscerated him. Sayf pulled himself to their side, only getting out: Are you—? before a voice interrupted them. The new one. Sayf had stared at the slender features of his face for the longer than he should. But his eyes eventually lifted to the stranger's gaze, a soft confusion on his face.

two shapes in the dark; one a familiar spectre which approached coyly, but their voice was cut off. jawahir's skin siezed when a foreign voice interrupted.
crowfeather?
the courtesan did not know this voice which called. they turned sharply, saw the pumpkin-orange eyes, the dark mask. tapering features that denoted yet another halfbreed; but not a face they knew.
shifting slightly so that sayf was behind them, at their hip.
no, i am jawahir. the boy sleeps outside of the palace.
he smelled faintly like the ascendant—turning jawahir tight-lipped again, casting a sharp look to the threshold of the door in to maggie's room, without their usual lustre.

A second creature stood in the shadows, glued to the hip of the first. Sihaya could hear words, but not make them out, and when he boasted a question there was a sudden hush among them. He could feel the shields rising as the brown one stepped in front of the grey to introduce himself as Jawahir. Sihaya’s lips peeled back into a glassy smile. What little secret tryst had he stumbled upon?

“My search continues, then,” the adder replied with false exasperation, eyes shifting between Jawahir and his company. He turned to the grey one. “And you, what is your name?” Sihaya pried as he stepped closer to the pair. They couldn’t get rid of him that easy.

It was then he noticed Jawahir’s gaze flick to a doorway. Sihaya followed it, curious. “What is in here?” he asked. Without hesitation he took a few purposeful strides in the direction of the cabin with the intention to inspect it.

Jawahir positioned their body in front of him, something he thought maybe a little unnecessary, but he appreciated the gesture all the same. He stayed at their hip, leaning against them in support until they learned the intentions of this new half-breed. Sayf had heard talk pertaining to Crowfeather, had seen him attend to the ailing woman within the cave where his companion lingered. It seemed this new man was looking for the medic. 

Jawahir told him where he could find Crowfeather, but that didn't seem to satisfy the curious coywolf. His questions were then turned on Sayf, and he stepped forward, shoulder to shoulder with Jawahir. I'm Sayf, he offered easily enough. And when the newcomer began to make his way towards the den of the sick woman, Sayf trotted forward to block his path. He wasn't sure of the whole story here, but he knew she was important to Jawahir.

Sayf smiled at the man. I can assure you we are far more interesting than whatever rests within that den, he offered, Come get to know us. His last words were given with a dip of his head and a playful curve to his lips.

what the man wanted mattered little to jawahir in the moment. it wasn't until he moved toward the door that the courtesan took on a frilled look, pointed like the devils of the desert.

this was a private matter. the man was nearing a line in the proverbial sand and should he cross it, a viper's bite awaited him.

jawahir lacked the good humor of sayf.

this is where the dead sleep. a telltale silence beyond the threshold had told the coyote as much; inside lay maggie's remains, for which jawahir would recite the holy words, though their tongue was anything but suitable.

Sayf beckoned him away and blocked his entry while Jawahir’s demeanor sharpened. It was clear he had hit a nerve, and much like telling a child to not touch a hot iron, Sihaya couldn’t resist disobeying the wishes of the lower Fellahin. An impish joy lit up his eyes as a his lips pressed together smugly.

“Tut, tut,” he chided them with a cluck of the tongue, “I should very much like to pay my respects to the deceased. I am Akashingo now, as Satsu and Ramesses made it so. Please, stand aside,” he asked Sayf, voice smeared with false pleasantries.

Sayf was a complicated creature. On the surface, he allowed those around him to think of him as pliant and playful—easily bent to the will of others. To some extent, he was all of those things, but that was only one version of himself. His childhood had saw to it that he created many versions of Sayf; it was how he had stayed safe. But certain things could trigger his less accommodating alters. Things like disrespect to the one he held most dear: Jawahir. 

So when the coywolf blew off the jewel's obvious anger, their palpable grief, the servant's entire demeanor changed. He straightened from his seductive lilt, his face hardened with anger, his gaze promised violence. Once the protector was out, he was hard to put back in the box of his mind. No, he said, taking a step towards the new one. You don't know how easily I can rip your eyes from their sockets, half-breed, he sneered. He wanted this man gone. He wanted to comfort his companion. Seconds ago, he had looked upon the coywolf with intrigue and desire, now he only considered him in the way.

sayf moved to bar the way, his tone lancing, but it was jawahir who moved to directly intervene. regardless of how sihaya had come to be here, regardless even of his standing within akashingo, it was jawahir that held the ear of the pharaoh; jawahir who had been here the longest.

and it was jawahir who burned with hurt the most over maggie, between the fellahin.

what they wanted now, faced with this stranger, was to strike out serpentine against them. to coil and to spit and to cut with fangs; instead, venom dripped from their voice. they stepped well within the personal space of the mazoi.

you are akashingo but you are not fellahin. the dead is - was. jawahir burned. the fur of their tail plumed while she sickled before the man, a sign of submission among wolves, the opposite among her people. come, let us take you somewhere pleasant, suitable for ramesses' honor guard; have you seen the wellspring?

dark eyes drank him in. though the warmth there was feigned, it was feigned well. they even moved to reach up to the base of one ear, to softly touch there, as if to press themselves in to service.

anything to keep him from maggie's sacred corpse.

How quickly he turned! Sihaya did not flinch at Sayf’s fiery tongue. In fact, he barely moved at all. A slow blink whetted his delighted orange leer, madly entertained by the gray coyote’s sour demeanor. It was so easy to bait Sayf to reveal his true colors. What a simple man – like placing grain outside a mouse’s burrow. At least Jawahir did not ruin their charade so readily. Imagine, the Fellahin thinking themselves mighty because they suckle on a king’s cock.

Sihaya held his ground. “I asked so politely, and yet you say such nasty things. Threats look unbecoming on you, Sayf. Ugly, even,” he replied, voice mild and unperturbed.

Then, Jawahir took back the helm and rightfully so – their companion was making a complete blunder of it all.  They took a seductive angle once again, but the trap had already been sprung. Despite Jawahir’s beautiful doe eyes and siren voice, Sihaya now knew their real intention in thanks to Sayf’s venomous words.

“Another time perhaps,” he replied with a cheerful smile, as if he wasn’t surrounded by wanting fangs. Sihaya turned to leave, feeling satiated, and would proceed up the red corridor in search of Crowfeather unless he was stopped.

Dismissed

Invalidated

Insulted

Worthless

Even the protector couldn't escape the truth. He was lost inside his head as Jawahir tried to salvage the situation. His thinking was too black and white to see past the threat that needed to be dealt with, but too wounded to do anything about it. 

His face went blank, his gaze dull and dead as he stared at the pair, unrecognizable now. He wouldn't even recognize himself if he saw his own reflection. 

At first, he was frozen, but then survival mode took over and it urged him to flee. Sayf turned and disappeared into the shadows. He would wander from the territory without a word to anyone.

the halfblood was done with his game, and left.

jawahir stared after him until the shadows of the corridor swallowed him up, breathing a shaky exhalation, turning towards the doorway; but then they saw the pale slip of sayf, diminishing.

alone, now. they did not want to be.