Lion Head Mesa we don't talk about Cicero, no, no, no

She leaned into the caring touch, then craned her neck, staring at him at an angle. Only my heart, she said, and a laugh escaped her. It was a cruel, mirthless sound, gurgling over her tongue like dark, debris-riddled floodwaters. She put her chin upon his shoulders.

Only take a few, Maegi instructed, breathing in his scent. Too many and. . .well, you'll learn the hard way. If you don't die before you do.

It was strange, how uninhibited she felt around the fellahin. Perhaps it was just the nature of his work—to serve, to please. She didn't feel too sorry about leaning on him for that purpose. It was, after all, his purpose.

She curled her toes inward, slowly, then let them relax again. Do you believe in Pharaoh's gods, Sayf?