Lion Head Mesa Antallagí

Arsenio and @Belen traveled back to the mesa and talked softly to one another. When they arrived, the Mazoi did not pause on the border. He journeyed into the lands where he had left a cache of meat and he unearthed it. When he had found a suitable portion of food for her, he placed it on the ground and looked to the girl with an expectant gaze.

Go on, eat. It’s fresher than the rest and will fill you up.

The Greek turned his gaze toward the mesa and searched for signs of anyone else. Once Belen had eaten, he could take her to the Pharaoh and present her as the replacement for Tamar. Could they leave right away then? He wondered if the autumn maid would wish to journey through the snow so late in the evening.

the red place almost hurt her eyes after the expanse of snow. belen tucked herself close to arsenio. and when he showed her food, the girl gorged herself desperately. stomach aching but energies restored, she looked at the man who called himself a guard. "gracias, arsenio." belen craned her head at their surroundings. so this was akashingo. she looked at the small not-wolves roaming to and fro. "who are they?"

News had come to Jawahir of some upheaval within the mesa. They had wanted to linger and to listen, but upon the dismissal of Sayyadina, the courtesan hurried off; from the fellahin they learned of Ramesses' anger, of Satsu's frigidity, and wondered at all the change about to transpire.

They carried themselves along the cold sand, trying to keep busy so as not to fall victim to their own curiosity; it was then that Arsenio passed beneath one noble arch and at his heel, a girl. Further intrigue sparked within the creature, and they drifted closer — snaking around the pair.

This girl, she was not of the sand. Her coat was fine yet thick, her body tapered with youth. My, how quickly tastes change, they murmured, looking coyly upon the mazoi.

They are the Fellahin. They have a unique place here-

Jawahir appeared as Arsenio spoke to the young woman. The sharp eyes of the Pharaoh’s jewel glittered upon them, and the concubine made a remark about the changing of tastes. The Greek tilted his head with a daft grin. Inside, he could feel his gut tighten and his chest rise with the heat of his anger. It made sense that the spoiled king would, in turn, make spoiled slaves. It did not make Jawahir any less pathetic.

Jahwah-heeeeer, Arsenio boomed with a boyish grin.

This is Belen. She travels looking for her mother and father. She is mine to bring to Pharaoh. You may leave.

Arsenio smiled at Jawahir. His icy gaze sharpened. There was no question in his statement. The Greek man did not care to have the Pharaoh’s little tenderloin close at hand. There was a trade to be made, and Arsenio was the only one who would make it. Belen was a casualty, one that his morals could battle later.

there was no answer, because the creature that came next ended their conversation. the girl's eyes widened. she stared at the slender muzzle and cunning legs of the other. she found herself measured by the knowing gaze. arsenio had gone cold somehow despite his laugh. but this brief awareness did little to distract her. jawahir. the guard dismissed the figure. belen blinked at him in surprise. her mouth for once was quiet, and she only stared wide-eyed between the akashingo pair.

beautiful, little belen. welcome.
jawahir was kind to the newcomer and wanted to make a good impression; but there was also cunning beneath her tongue, a shrewd look passed to the mazoi as he tried to dismiss them.

then, a clucking laugh.
if that is what you wish, but he is in no mood.
would it be wise to let him go? it would be entertaining, but perhaps too dangerous to linger and to see pharaoh turn upon the red man.

the courtesan holds their tongue a moment and decides.
i will take her to the alcoves. the lord-sun, he is otherwise occupied with the queen currently. jawahir would not divulge anything. let him wonder, let him take his own chances with the rage he would find there.

drawing away from them both now, jawahir looks to belen. come, come, let the man return to his work.

No.

Arsenio was firmer with Jawahir than he intended to be, but he wanted it known that Belen would not be leaving with the little treasure. He knew well enough that he could say nothing once the jewel had swept the newcomer away. It would only be the word of the guard against the most prized of the Pharaoh’s toys. The Greek would not stand for it. There could be no risks in his exchange for Tamar.

She will stay with me. I will take her to Pharaoh Ramesses when she has been fed with my meats and bathed. Perhaps having something presentable… and not so stale would make his mood lighter.

Arsenio did not smile or laugh. He wanted Jawahir gone.

the words became harder. first she was commanded to leave. and then she was commanded to stay. already there was power at work here she did not understand. the girl swallowed. her voice sounded at last, weakly. "i don't want to wait any longer to meet him. i need to tell him about my father. when he comes back he will be looking for me. so —" her eyes darted shyly between the newcomer and arsenio, "we should go now.  vamanos, por favor."

this boy was grating upon the last of the courtesan's good nature. ordering them about as if they themselves were fellahin, not somehow equal to them, or above; jawahir shot the boy a sly look, smiling, but feeling no love for him.

and then the girl spoke. she was flighty. made nervous by the depth of the boy's voice maybe. jawahir softened for her sake and drew a little breath.

your father? oh, my dear, i will make sure it is known that we will have company. perhaps they would, perhaps they would not; the fellahin could keep the man entertained if he appeared and the girl could rest from whatever ordeals she had survived.

if that was what she wanted, jawahir would not stand in the way. the creature moved so that belen could go forth towards the mesa, lingering before arsenio to briefly bar his way — a warning in those dark eyes, a thin smile upon those lips.

go, then. if you are so desperate for his attention. dismissive, and then they slid out of the path.

Arsenio was above the servant. The Mazoi were served by the Fellahin. Jawahir was nothing more than a special version of all the rest. They did not carry weight in their voice. The Greek would never heed their words or answer to their asks. He cared little for the slippery creature of the sand. He cared less for the slave’s master. What could Jawahir do that would shake Arsenio’s foundation? Nothing. The mercenary would sooner pull the sad little thing’s throat from its body. 

Come, Belen, let us see the Pharaoh, he said gently to the girl. 

As Jawahir made a point to stand in his way, Arsenio did not hesitate to shove his shoulder as hard as he could in passing. If he left a bruise that ached for a week, it would not have been enough. The redstone guard cast a sneer over his shoulder.

the way that arsenio spoke to jawaheer was familiar. neizan often treated zaira with the same level of contempt. this was different, however. belen couldn't see how these two were together. the familiarity was what made her slip into her place alongside the red guard, though she flinched at the violence and snuck a plaintive look over her own shoulder at the fellahin.

they saw it coming and did nothing to prevent it.
the blow would bruise, and it did force the wind from their lungs, but jawahir grinned and bore the brunt of it. they looked to belen and shared a glance with one another.
and the mazoi sneered.
jawahir waited for them to make some distance before retreating to the sands.