Lion Head Mesa like one of your french girls

When the fires of the daylight star burned low, Akhtar was found in his quarters, much as you could find him anyday. He didn’t go hunting or searching for anything, and with war sniffing its nose at their flanks, what better way to spend his time than not getting ripped to shreds by weirdos.

Anything was better than that.

Tonight, though, was a glorious night. A night when Akhtar broke out his “paints”, got tipsy, and began to draw.

What he was working on wasn’t recognizable in any sort of way, no, but in his mind it was a beautiful rendition of a heron. He swept his claws back off the blob of the creature’s head to mimic feathers, frowning to himself for a moment, before shrugging and moving on. He hummed as he worked, an old song, honoring deities he had grown up with. He couldn’t quite remember the words. He didn’t believe he should be worshipping fish after all.