Lion Head Mesa sword & jaw

Close warmth and then the cool arc of absence. Her throat is heavy. Perhaps it is ordinary, though not to her. She looks down at the pendant’s luster: imperial red.

She stands a moment before turning. He will not be baited and she has courtesy enough to lower her knife, trading it for a brush of eyes over the hard lines of his rust-colored face. She is not so naive to believe this comes free of obligation.

“What do you want, Khusobek?”

Had he not everything? The wine, the luxuries, hemets and fellahin for his bed?