Lion Head Mesa Empty rooms are honest places

A jangling noise played through the caverns and halls. Crowfeather squinted sharply, ears perked tall upon his head so that he could listen to the unfamiliar sound. He wondered if the Fellahin had found something new to pleasure the Pharaoh with. The tinkling noise grew closer to the sleeping quarters where Crowfeather rested.

From the entrance, there was a small figure that looked no more wolf than the prey animals they carried to him in the mornings. The dark wolf recoiled sharply, fearful and wary of the strange little figure. He spoke with a drawl that filled the bedchamber. What on earth had Tamar given him? For this little being could not be real, surely. And yet, when he sniffed at the air around the miniature figure, he found that the beast carried common scents upon his coat. It smelled like Pharaoh and Satsu.

I- I am… Crowfeather’s voice sounded in a croak.

Wh- the seer could not settle on what he might need to ask. Who are you? What are you? Where on earth did you crawl out of? Why do you sound that way?

Who? but he faltered and blinked, stunned, at the small dog in his doorway.