Lion Head Mesa Men-nefer

He materialized against the sky, obsidian on ancient blue with the sun ablaze overhead. The unbroken land diffused the call but the Prince would hear it and breach the mesa to look for its songster.

He cast a scorched look upon the man who stood as an apparition, vibrantly red in the hissing heat. The flanking attendants are waved away and he set off down the slope to meet him.

“I had believed you would not to come,” he remarked coldly with the arch of a shadowed brow. His lips stole into a smile, the smile into a braying laugh.