Lion Head Mesa what a grand and intoxicating innocence

The mesa crawled beneath his touch like a millipede, sun glinting off its rocks like a carapace. So many here, seeking Toula’s young hand. They brought with them viziers, guards, a smattering of servants. He remained fascinated, a black hare skin coifed perfectly around his neck, watching them come and go.

Properly fascinating, this.

He entertained the brief idea of revealing his heritage, smothering himself with furs until he looked the part, and telling the first one he saw that he was a prince, and he demanded to be treated as such! But Toula was far, far too young for him to even think of that. He remembered when she was young. And besides, his heritage was a long forgotten thing, no matter the power he could gain. And besides.

He would look rather the madman, spouting claims about being a prince. It made him laugh at the thought, taking in the sun as it rose in the far distance. He raised a paw to it, closing one eye, then nodding to himself.

The prayers to Ra came so easily. It was second nature, somehow.