Hideaway Strath linen

mosses beach

the heat should have enlivened pharaoh, but this was not the climate of his birth. a soupy, horrid clinging in the air, nightmarish stuff that kept him awake and in a bad humour.
at the day's peak, ramesses lay sullenly in the shallows, chin resting on the cool moss that still held a good deal of water. he did not hunt. he did not speak. he only existed there, communing with Amun in angry, silent words.