Cerulean Cape I made you my temple, my mural, my sky

ramesses quickly considered escalating their conflict over the other's thornback tongue. yet pharaoh restrained himself. it would not be good for the gods to see him so humbled as to fight a woman. remember that Ra gives down his grace only unto the mediator between the holy place and the divine. that is you.
if only this one knew. ramesses had seen battle. granted, it had been in the company of several captains who had only guided his own strike, but he had worn the title at a young age. however ramesses did not want to impress this termagant.
and yet her did. "perhaps if you had been in possession of one, this would not have occurred."
the brat king gestured grandly at the canyon where her eye had been with a toss of his muzzle. "i am here because i must be here, for now. and i must make something of myself while i am here, so that when i return to where i came from, i have more to offer."
how many years did she have? ramesses wondered idly, having found it firmly established she felt old enough to call him boy, shun the aura of greatness that surrounded him. "not much of a comrade if they leave you abandoned in a storm," he provoked, pressing the issue back upon her small hard figure. "but then again, you are a sharp-clawed little peacock."