Lion Head Mesa ساخط khasara

sayf moved to bar the way, his tone lancing, but it was jawahir who moved to directly intervene. regardless of how sihaya had come to be here, regardless even of his standing within akashingo, it was jawahir that held the ear of the pharaoh; jawahir who had been here the longest.

and it was jawahir who burned with hurt the most over maggie, between the fellahin.

what they wanted now, faced with this stranger, was to strike out serpentine against them. to coil and to spit and to cut with fangs; instead, venom dripped from their voice. they stepped well within the personal space of the mazoi.

you are akashingo but you are not fellahin. the dead is - was. jawahir burned. the fur of their tail plumed while she sickled before the man, a sign of submission among wolves, the opposite among her people. come, let us take you somewhere pleasant, suitable for ramesses' honor guard; have you seen the wellspring?

dark eyes drank him in. though the warmth there was feigned, it was feigned well. they even moved to reach up to the base of one ear, to softly touch there, as if to press themselves in to service.

anything to keep him from maggie's sacred corpse.