Lion Head Mesa Oh, my friends all lie and say

The way these people of Akashingo carried on with their days was commendable to Harakhte, who came from a place of sand and grit as they did, though nothing as monumental as the mesa. He was particularly taken by their use of the wellspring, which to his own people would have been a holy thing — a precious oasis! And they used it for baths!
He had taken to the water immediately when given the opportunity. Even if it was strange, it was not his home, it was not his way, and he had to play the role of prince. These people expected things of him and so he would uphold their vision.
By now though, Harakhte had become accustomed to a certain routine.
The heat of the day plagued him, so he sought out the reprieve of the wellspring and its cooling stones, which was housed deep within the lower mesa. As he came to the doorway, he found the space occupied — not the spring itself, but the room surrounding it. The man cleared his throat and placed a careful smile upon his face, but didn't say anything. He wasn't sure who this was from behind.