Lion Head Mesa anodized

ramesses was irate; his tailtip stirred like that of a cat as tavina bowed and was gone from them. he wanted no saint beneath his roof; charles was enough. and no one knew his origins, or at least pharaoh assumed.
he let out his breath, a wavering, long-suffering sound of annoyance, and closed his lazuli eyes with a flare of delicate nostrils.
"shall we visit the wellspring?" he asked, already sliding from his throne and moving toward the doorway. the attention of the fellahin would do him well, would wash all this ugly talk of saints from his palate. for now.