Lion Head Mesa Thárros

It did not take long for the Greek man to feel the presence of his follower.

Sweeping his icy gaze back over his shoulder, Arsenio caught sight of one of the Fellahin. It was a wolf he had not spoken to, not on his own. Still, the figure was not unfamiliar. This was one of the Pharaoh’s playthings, perhaps even one of his favorites. The guard could smell the ruler on Jawahir’s pelt even at a distance.

Hello, Fellahin, do you need a guard to escort you somewhere? Arsenio called out to the figure, his voice cheery. There was a pleasant swinging to the auburn wolf’s hips. He made a wide prowling circle and fixed his eyes on the slender shape of the Pharaoh’s whore.