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

Her brows came together in query. And when you're not around the Pharaoh? she asked. She'd found that the daedra were loudest within the heart of Blackfeather Woods, and their voices faded as one strayed further away. Was Pharaoh the keeper of his own gods' presence? It was an intriguing thought.

I. . . Maegi trailed off, shaking her head and beginning to preen at the thick fur between his shoulder blades. I. . .believe. In too many things. Too many gods.

She pulled a lingering bit of debris from his pelt, the barest shred of dead leaf buried deep. It's hard to explain, she whispered. But I am haunted. And I cannot escape their voices.