Lion Head Mesa Hear them mumblin' low

winding words what brushed by yet never touched a single truth. lots of pretty prose to say; jack all. 

gucci remained, in appearance, relaxed, although there was a pinch of annoyance at his brows and a feline thump to his fanning tail. his claws seemed then more worthy of attention, and the noble would've written off sutekh as a gibbering poet.

then came that question, and gucci, for days now suspectin' each man foreign or not of untoward intentions, smirked. 

ah see yer game, cottonmouth. 

the little man stretched his little arms, rolling then onto his belly, crossing paws at ankles.

mm, yis we's gat a real infestation on our pawsies. he grinned meanly. bachelors roostin' in th' eaves, sociopath sycophants 'n' ladies in waitin' nawt waitin' on their gosh-darn turns. an ear twitched.

such shame, nawt one a-them seems suited fer our young queen. the grin persisted.