Sea Lion Shores metal and dust

“I wanted to be Pharaoh.” The want of power was often squandered and washed away, but there was a reverence to her words that forced a pang of guilt into his chest. Ankh peered at her with curious, wan eyes. He could never understand the desire that tailed behind authority with desperation. Perchance it was because he was born into the life of a Prince. He had taken his vows at an early age and had tossed aside all earthly cares. The Pharaoh had been preened and groomed to his position of rule. His birth had been his first day in the throes of the Egyptian conviction. No, he had not suffered in the same manner as the Regent before him, but he had suffered all the same. To hear that she desired his throne – his rank among lesser men and women – was disheartening. He could not come to the level of understanding that would allow him to forgive such wanting. Still, he was curious as to how she had come to this state. How someone so regal, so composed, could be reduced to wandering the beachside. Hatshepsut wove him a story of betrayal, banishment, distrust; but he was not surprised by these allegations against her own family. The blood of the Egyptians was sacred. Ankh knew this when he had viciously attempted to murder his own sister at the age of nine months. Her desires had led him to question her motives and her loyalties. Isis was the player in a rich and foul game. Ankh had been driven to shed her blood on the sands of his home land, but his attempts had been snuffed by the rage of his father. To act against blood, kin, family was worth more dishonor than anything Ankh could have brought to their land. His punishment? The pallid Prince had been forced to spend three days in the desert sands. If he should survive, he would return again as their designated ruler. If he should perish in the blistering heat, Osiris would take his soul. The Gods had smiled upon him those days, and he had staggered back to the Osahar with death having consumed him - embers in his soul. His distrust for his sister did not die in the desert heat. Instead, it had festered and burned into the young wolfdog’s spirit. He had not forgotten her treachery and hatred. When he returned to his homeland, she would be reminded of his wrath. He would carry that anger for her until the day he passed... or the day Osiris took her soul. “Blood is often the quickest way to darkness,” he remarked with a sullen nod of his muzzle in her direction. Ankh did not know how to comfort this woman for her loss of position. Even more so, he did not know how to assist her through the loss of trust in her own kith. If the young Pharaoh could not work through his own hatred for his sisters, and his lack of understanding for his younger brother, he could be of no service to Hatshepsut in her own anger. Perhaps, they were not so unalike in that manner. Again, he words stuck his ears, and she inquired as to what had brought him so far from their home. Drawing his eyes upward to lock with hers, he heaved a sigh and his dark lips curled downwards in a frown. “My father, who was Pharaoh before me, grew ill some many months ago. He told me it was the will of the Gods that I should leave our home and make sons and daughters to bring back to Osahar so that I might rightfully lead with a family at my side. My sister, Sekhet, brought news to me recently that he has since passed,” Ankh explained with a solemn tone. “I feel it is only right that I fulfill his wishes before I return to the desert of Osahar.” But there was more to it than that. The pallid Pharaoh had a fear of what awaited him in the sands of his home. His travels had taken him away from the evils of Isis and Sekhet. If he were to return, his children, and his own life would be in danger. When did a boy know if he was ready to lead?