Lion Head Mesa sandstone

Tamar would find Sihaya in the dim light of his chambers. He sat hunched in a corner, facing a wall and muttering something unintelligible while he arranged a prized bear jaw against a cairn of rocks. Loot from the war. Still fresh from the field, debris and dirt caked his tawny pelt. A side-affect of traveling in a storm.

The Mazoi’s head turned slowly like an owl’s at the sound of her voice, pupils large against the glowing pumpkin of his iris. The wan girl stood in his doorway under the curtain of greenery, backlit from the hallway light. In her jaws was supper.

He paused for a good long while. Just staring. “Tamar,” he said eventually, “come in.” Sihaya turned to the jaw and made a small adjustment before standing back and admiring his work.

“So generous of the queen to lend me her maid,” he said with a glassy smile. “She must be pleased with my efforts in the war,” Sihaya mused. The Shabti must have appreciated the extra days spent tracking Nyra with Germanicus.