Bitterroot Valley porphyria

Camazotz would not reveal himself in the siege that day brought. No, His breath reigned only in shadow, shattered now as it was in the sunlight. Amidst the broken tendrils of His voice an icy ghost followed on, nose flaring as the scents of his sister and their slave broke off from the path ahead. They would return, he presumed, he hoped. For they knew so of the consequences abandonment could bring.

He left the heels of his mother now to follow on, muttering only slightly as the sun's harsh rays beat down upon his matted pelt. Camazotz could not hear him now out here on open ground, and so his own mind guided him forwards towards the distant blemish where tooth met ground and water flourished. The white raven clung to the far edges of K'atik's sight, his own ash-blown orbs scouring the scene for any vessel that might pose danger to him and, though he cared least for words of heartfelt warning, his mother and her wrath.