Lion Head Mesa sol [m]

Akhtar was there.

In his rooms, that was, fussily going about adjusting things he’d managed to gather. A rock that had sparkled just right in the sun, dried flowers he had managed to find tucked away that smelled faintly of the Jodai, anything he could reasonably make a call to say was something holy and that he wanted nearby him. Except the flowers. Those just smelled nice.

At the moment, he was still fussing, tisking his tongue to his teeth as he adjusted the flowers he’d tucked into the corner he’d designated the one he’d sleep in. He’d move one, tisk, then move it back to its previous position. Unfortunately, the priest was a former prince, and princes were fussy folk.