Dahozhoni Meadow you want someone to be

for the sake of timelines, set somewhere between the behind the scenes meeting of meseba & this thread.

altuyur tahmis. tajid fireawna.

pharaoh seti's words come back to akhenaten in the quiet throes of just-before-sleep; restless as they are. the bed of mosses and trampled grasses dry from the coming winter months is about as comfortable as the prince that was promised was able to find since leaving his home at the command of his father. allowed to see his divine sisters only long enough to offer them each a kiss on their cheeks and soft rumbled words of encouragement before he was escorted from the territory by pharaoh seti.

his dreams are as restless.

he dreams of oasises of blood upon the sands; driven by his own feeling of unease. the scorn of his father's gaze constant. the only son born amidst a sea of daughters .... to the wrong woman. the blue blood, strong through it was never enough to erase the red. the lies attempted to be told, the nursing at his divine sisters' sides from the queen mother while he was a whelp, the colors of the amazonian concubine that had born him not yet cooled into the pales of his fur.

though the living god had tried to lie, the gods not of the earth had punished them both for it.

a noise draws akhenaten — no, abydos — from his uneasy slumber. groggily; heavy eyed his head lifts from his front paws, ears alert and gaze hawkish as it scours the night shadowed meadow.

These days, the lion never seemed to sit still. A constant wanderer, allowing the winds to take him every which way before he would return to Verapaz in the night.

Sometimes he landed in a sand dune, other times in the comfort of a meadow. But today he was not alone.

The scent of another was carried by the wind, leaving him curious. He followed the scent with a sense of urgency, his gaze hungry. Attention starved, maybe. Not many of the wolves of Verapaz were to his liking - such things only drove him further into the homes of strangers.

He was greedy, selfish. He knew that well. One who was raised surrounded by loyal servants had a right to be - he thought so at least. It was only fair, it was his birth right.

a stranger approaches — the source of the noise. drawn from the almost half state of sleep akhenaten had begun to fall into, his head rises. with a suddenness that leaves the blood rushing in his ears. but he is unfamiliar lands with nothing but strangers all around him. there is no familiarity to be found here.

and so unease makes its home in his chest even as he rises to his paws; effectively chasing away sleep despite how his body craves it.

hail stranger, calls out the prince that was promised; gaze taking in the silhouette that gives shape and then color to the other man.

Ah, he's been noticed.

The stranger is pretty - Arslan thinks so at least. Taller than himself, and cloaked in shades of the lowlands. He finds the mask of white to be rather peculiar, yet intriguing. It is something new.

He is quick to move into a trot, practically prancing around the man as he raises to his paws.

You look troubled, tatlı. He says, his tail high and waving. It can't be me, surely.

His head tilts, awaiting a response.