Lion Head Mesa scorpion

pharaoh leaned against the lintel of maggie's doorway.
her paltry little items seemed dead now. she lay upon her peasant's bed and did not move. only the rise and fall of her side suggested that life still existed within.
the room held the scent of herbs and the dour, skilled presence of the boy physician.
the lazuli eyes trailed over the cobwebs. the poultices.
akashingo was far too quiet, and so ramesses escaped. he turned noiselessly at the door and trotted unseeingly through the rock hallways until he had emerged into the noonday sun. 
soon pharaoh was only a gilded silhouette upon his own borders, traveling in that broad circle against a shimmer of heat that erased the lines of his tall frame.
in bitterness and hatred he searched for any sign of nyra, spitting an oath on whatever blood and tufts of fur still lay caught in the rough dirt.
Ra burned upon him even with the air losing its warmth.
ramesses bowed his head in a rare shame and continued upon his patrol, willing that no other come upon him.