Lion Head Mesa wailing

Arsenio held her gaze before he bowed his snout toward the earth in understanding.

Maybe you do not, the Greek man whispered softly to the maid, worried for all the things that he dared to speak to her. Tamar was sharper than she looked. She absorbed the words of those around her naturally, without falter or sway. It was good for a servant girl to have such skills, he knew. It did not stop him from thinking she would use them on him.

Arsenio watched her go, following solemnly with the ice of his eyes. Only when she had faded from his sight did he curse softly at the earth. Akashingo was a tiresome place.