Luneshale Pass Desafinado

“His mouth is quite pretty too, no?” He quipped once his lips were free of the vessel. A hearty laugh rumbled his throat, accord in place of reproach. For he was not Pharaoh; yet.

He seized a canteen with his jaws and lobbed it toward the impressive man, a second was thrown in the direction of the sleeker silver-eyed woman who made her home of the silent shadows, and born too from the darkness was a waft of wing and the gift of a brindled feather that was caught between his teeth.

“Khusobek,” for he knew the man’s name, “how does the road compare to the palace for you?” He asked amid an admired glance at the owl’s plume. “You prefer it?”