Lion Head Mesa a whispering god

Rashepses is predictable in rage and in his ego, the dog assured with the wave of a paw. I assume it will be easy enough to coax him into folly. The opinions of the nobility are important to remember as well. We needn't do anything rash ourselves, only turn the court against him, and luckily for us, he seems intent on making that easy enough, doesn't he? A small smile, comforted.

No fear, Machiavelli agreed, turning to gather the cacti drink, one for himself, one for Senmut. We shan't feed his hubris any longer. And the container was extended for the prince to tap his own against.

Oh, I suppose, the man replied, sighing teasingly and rolling his eyes, but only because you asked so sweetly. He brushed a paw against the flaxen cheek. Accompany me on my last chores and then I beg you let us return here and sleep. I fear I am so exhausted my eyebags are growing eyebags.

machiavelli's grasp of courtcraft would always far outmaneuver anything senmut had cultivated over the years, and he offered a wan smile. "better yet — tell me what they are and lie down. maybe it is an order. i was born a servant; i am not a stranger to demanding work."

the pelt plucked up, hung around those slim pale shoulders once more. "you sleep. i will think of ways in which rashepses might be goaded into revealing more of his nature to those eyes who must see it."

he stepped back, a faint smile on his mouth, head inclined to hear any final protestations before he left machiavelli to the plain but plush heap of bedfurs.

The half-breed let out a soft sigh, nestling into the furs. It’s nothing so grand as that, he murmured, the words trailing off like smoke, his voice carrying the faintest lilt of humor. You’ll find me an incredibly dutiful little servant. A glimmer of playfulness danced in his tone, though it lacked the energy of earlier hours.

I left pelts out to dry this morning; they’ll need returning to the storeroom, he continued, his words punctuated by a yawn that stretched him long and lean against the bedding, before he curled his tail over his paws, everything else has been completed. A long pause followed, the dog’s tired eyes lingering on the russet face before him, blinking heavy and slow, as though savoring the image.

When he spoke again, it was with a softness that barely disturbed the air: Thank you, Machi said at last, perhaps catching the prince as he turned to leave. For today, darling—and for speaking with me. I would never confess it to anyone else, but I was… worried. A pause, brief but laden, embarrassed by the admission. It isn’t so now.