Lion Head Mesa thirty-second

A command, resonate and sharp enough to rid the brine from the tops of the saltflats the Mazoi now wades through. His noble calls: it is for blood.

"Stay put, Rabbit." He instructs the flaxen boy before slipping off. For now, the less he understands, the more useful he is.

There will be no time to inform his raven, though he trusts her to stay the course and return to serve answers. But this is not as the Red Prince has mandated. Perhaps time is up.

The howl's fiery timbre beckons him up the banks of the Lion’s Head and into the royal presence of the High Priest Senmut. Such urgency manifests as sweet thrill in the hollow of his chest.

“My liege,” he addresses with a purr and an exaggerated sweeping bow before joining their eyes.