Tuktu Weir nile god

the scent of his idol, cinnamon and musk and the clean earth of far-reaching places. "i am pharaoh. i do not serve. i am served," and here he turned half-about, to nip at the long line of jawahir's tulip ear. she of all had done the most in this regard.
the common rabble. he grinned at her words. "i cannot be held forever. i must make something of myself." and yet he did not stir, restless but unwilling to be parted from the gentle weight and warmth of her lyrebone body.