Lion Head Mesa [m] cut out my heart and you leave me bleeding

I mean to test your devotion. My devotion? Charles said, the word rolling off his tongue awkwardly, but his gaze fierce and intent despite his drunkenness. The coywolf knew the word, but he had never uttered it and he did not know its true meaning, only from the context he had gathered from it being used. Many used it differently. Charles knew it could be used in sexual context — but also in other — which made it even harder for him to decipher what it was that Ramesses tried to say.

A task followed. Train? Charles had trained with the Saints and he had been poor at it. He did not think that he was made for fighting. He was too small and weak, and unwilling and, truthfully, too scarred, to be truthful.

The mazoi? Charles knew some of the politics around the Mesa, but honestly not very much. He thought of telling that he would be bad at training, but he knew what it meant to have his.. devotion.. tested — one way or another.

The thought of having a concubine did not excite Charles very much beyond the fact that it would mean that he should not carry the responsibility of the children; whether a pairing succeeded or not was up to the woman, then, and he just needed to try his best. He knew that he was capable, after all, for he had produced a child once before. Charles was not excited by these thoughts, but he was excited to think about having a family of his own; especially if he were to ascend to higher standings within Akashingo. To be a powerful man and have his life under control... it seemed so far away now, but these thoughts truly filled Charles with an excited anticipation.

Perhaps it was the berries that gave Charles the courage to do what he did next; what he would never when he was sober. He leaned forward to the Pharaoh and he said hoarsely, almost secretively, as though he was proposing something entirely forbidden — What else can I do for you, Pharaoh?