Lion Head Mesa safflower

The amiirad too said nothing in this instance, only gesturing him forward in response.
Many hairs upon his neck bristled in an uncanny, but complacent manner. This girl was so content with him, eyes gleaming each time her eyes were upon him. Why was this? It confused him, yet interested him all the same.
Khaba chuffed in a whisper when her muzzle swung. As if he was magnetized, led close by a leash, his feet carried him forward a few steps. He minded himself, though. To not move too close was his intent. 
Although he had not been here long, placement of the hierarchy had been easy to learn. He was a mazoi, whereas she was amiirad, offspring to the great pharaoh himself. It would never be his intention to cross the bounds he knew well were not designed to be crossed.