Lion Head Mesa lacrimosus

germanicus felt his heart grow cold by how glibly the royal tossed both talk of war and maggie into the proverbial pile of refuse.

for that same time he did not speak, only watched pharaoh simper and ooze around the barely breathing figure of the pale harlot.

the words shamed him, bringing to mind the stricken face of crowfeather. 

that the saints had lost akashingo was known. but pharaoh did not seem moved to defend it.

her final lover. at last the yellowglass eyes shifted with a brief and inscrutable stirring. "shall i bring another doctor?"

the room hung heavy with the fragrance of crowfeather. did the pharaoh not appreciate the work of the young healer?

"or do you mean that i should pay for your entertainments, pharaoh?"