When Tamar startled, Sihaya barely moved. Not even a blink. He leaned forward, pushing into the woman’s space, and peered over her shoulder at the branch on the ground. “Hmm,” he hummed, intrigued. “We, Akashingo? …Or We, the Fellahin?” he asked in a drawling tone, wondering how intertwined Ramesses and Satsu were with their consorts. By the way Jawahir and Sayf acted, Sihaya wondered if was a tribal, cultural carryover from their homeland.
In either case, the ways were odd to the newcomer, who couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever attended a funeral. They weren’t common in Siahaedra. But neither were consorts or slaves.
The leering orange of his gaze remained fixed on the branch, but a twitch of his nose smelled the lady’s perfume. He withdrew himself from her bubble with a steady movement and sat back to rest on his haunches.
In either case, the ways were odd to the newcomer, who couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever attended a funeral. They weren’t common in Siahaedra. But neither were consorts or slaves.
The leering orange of his gaze remained fixed on the branch, but a twitch of his nose smelled the lady’s perfume. He withdrew himself from her bubble with a steady movement and sat back to rest on his haunches.
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RE: ash - by Sihaya - October 20, 2021, 06:46 PM