Lion Head Mesa ساخط khasara

Sayf beckoned him away and blocked his entry while Jawahir’s demeanor sharpened. It was clear he had hit a nerve, and much like telling a child to not touch a hot iron, Sihaya couldn’t resist disobeying the wishes of the lower Fellahin. An impish joy lit up his eyes as a his lips pressed together smugly.

“Tut, tut,” he chided them with a cluck of the tongue, “I should very much like to pay my respects to the deceased. I am Akashingo now, as Satsu and Ramesses made it so. Please, stand aside,” he asked Sayf, voice smeared with false pleasantries.