Lion Head Mesa so intoxicated with the end

he does not know what she wishes for him to see from them.

if he had to assume, it would be something from perhaps osiris, or in relation to the late pharaoh.

but the threadbones did not give the readings wanted. else their messages wouldn't have been so grim as ingram read basilica's own personal apocalypse in each spread.

seaglass gaze roves back to he bones, taking a deep breath as he focuses on them; unblinking. letting his vision tunnel so that it is only him and the bones; the fluttering feather of ma'at drifting across the death.

one of praimfaya's ribs.

fitting.

death, he gestures to the ribbone with his muzzle. because you have lost the pharaoh, but it does not always mean death in the literal sense. it picks up on fears. on turbulence. on catastrophe and in akashingo there is much of it. much and sudden change. and perhaps that was afflicting the reading.

judgement. he gestures to the feather of ma'at. feather versus the feather. your life has changed forever ... but there are new opportunities. potential. the feather of ma'at demands this is not to be ignored.

the next bone standing out in the middle, sway from the scattered others: the birdskull. the hierophant. he points to it with his muzzle. a reminder to not do what is expected of you but what makes you happy. to do what it is important to you.

ingram's focus upon the threadbones breaks as he lifts his gaze to toula, taking in her expression with quiet curiosity.