Lion Head Mesa The boy who swallowed a star

"until you cure the cuts upon my cheek, i will know little peace." the words were said smilingly and with warmth, but the attitude did not touch the recesses of the deep gaze. he lay back upon his fine plinth and gestured crowfeather closer with a lazy motion.
"i have many aches that pain me. which do you propose to cure, swnw?" hunger of the mind. hunger of the soul. the aggravated, tearing pain of healing skin stretching over his lips.
he fell silent, aiding crowfeather by turning his head to and fro. "the imperator," to whom this young one had pledged some sort of odd fealty, "from where did he come?"
ramesses' tones were light in the gentle way that dared the other to avoid or to lie.