Two Eyes Cenote oh, anytime.

there was the matter of what to do with @Riot. 

well-rested, recovered from the blood-cost of her spell, qiao wiped the last of sleep from her eyes and considered the boy’s future. 

she sensed the spell had worked; old aches and pains seemed a little lesser today — the tingle of arthritic changes in her paw just a little softer. maybe a wrinkle or two was gone, even, the clock reset to some earlier time all on account of poor rowdy’s early demise. 

ah well, qiao thought bemusedly — at least he’s young forever now. 

but riot — where to put him? the ritual had only needed the one, and qiao sensed that like stormchaser, the overworld would rebuke any offer of his lifeblood for now. 

she thrummed her toes in the sand. he could make a fine fellahin — his features were just sharp enough to taste the distant coyblood — but perhaps his uses would be better served as a young mazoi. he was male, which spared him from worse fates — but where, where to put the boy?

she set out to find him with a low croon; it was time for his breakfast.

again, the wretch’s voice—summoning him, this time.
he stirs from his slumber and finds himself outside, not far from qiao’s quarters. a miserable ache plagues his mind. it takes him a moment to recollect last night’s trauma. he can’t recall how he ended up back here.
dark water. blood. a severed tail.
his heart begins to race again.
but he cannot find it within him to feel any sort of emotion whatsoever. the surge of grief had torn him apart so badly that when he collected himself, he had put the pieces back in a way that was wrong and altogether dysfunctional. the wound; now cauterized.
riot gets up, seeing qiao draw near.
he knew rowdy’s fate. he knew qiao would lead him to the slaughter. 
the boy approaches in his usual plain demeanor and waits for the hag to spit up his gruel. 
his eyes are reddened and jaded.

does he know?

his eyes were rimshot and red. qiao didn't bother with formalities as she brought him a thin strip of deer haunch. 

your brother is dead. she began to pack their piecemeal things; nearby, stormchaser's shadow moved.

their time here was drawing to a close. she planned to inform the doctor and eset of their travels back to akashingo; news of the pharaoh's joyous birth had reached her ears, and she'd done what she could in these halls.

if you plan to stay among the living, i advise you join the mazoi.

qiao greets him in her usual drab manner.
he looks to her face as she speaks, his reply is a simple,
i know.
the boy moves and takes the meat. rowdy had died, yes, but his appetite has not.
between a bites, he questions the crone.
why did you do it? 
but moreover he wants to know, like riley, like raider—
was he sick, too?
and he realizes he doesn’t even know—
what’s a mazoi?

yes, he was sick. a lie nestled in a half-truth. she wondered how many children in this world, at the mercy of the adults in their lives, met a worse fate than riley. 

poor riot; a child born into incomprehensible violence. his life so far had been nothing but a series of misfortune directed on a cosmic scale. a mazoi is a guard. this place — muat-riya, is a subset of akashingo. you would be well fed and cared for, and it will secure your future. or — she left the suggestion hang in the air for a time. you could try to find your own way, outside of the palace. but i would not advise it.

he blinks, then half-sniffles in the unwittingly obnoxious way that only children could manage.
am i gonna get sick? riot questions, growing frantic as if he’d just read his poor prognosis on WebMD. will you get the sick?
whatever qiao’s reply is, it somehow seems to quell this concern, at least for now. but still remained the question of his future, he couldn’t help and question but why?
though not particularly sharp, he can read between the lines of qiao’s advice.
wait.. are you leaving??