Lion Head Mesa I can make your life a livin' hell

Charles didn't like training, as such. All of these warriors were so stuffy and stoic and it was hard to read them. Besides, Charles' life had taught him that he was bad, like, real proper real bad at fighting. Some of his most embarrassing moments were when he had been attacked by others. He wouldn't call it a fight, really. Of course it was expected of him in the Saints, but even then, Charles had never learned proper — he'd never gotten over his immense fears, the ones that sent him curling himself into a ball at the first signs of violence. At the Saints, he had danced around this very easily, and he had here at Akashingo, so far... But now things were changing, with Ramesses' newest demands of him.

A fellahin collected him that day and the coywolf showed up looking almost regal; his posture proud, and for a change he did not smell of berries. Perhaps because he had not had the time to endrunken himself as the fellahin came to call. No matter. Fake it 'til you make it, Charles decided to try today.

Ah, he said, then realised he did not remember Khaba's title, and after a silence of maybe five seconds, in which the fellahin hushedly and hastily whispered something into his ear, the prince theatrically continued, .. Jodai Khaba.