Two Eyes Cenote [m]arrow & spit

in the silverglow and the crook of her embrace, khusobek allowed himself to gather the small remnants of the dream and fit them together, gossamer ekeing through proverbial fingers —

inji, gently swelling with his children, sons and daughters who might be mazoi or might be fellahin, but no higher. nobility was not in his grasp. any seed from his loins would sprout up into servitude, and this raked his spine more than anything else.

a place in the desert for themselves, rooms in which to live as husband and wife. could he do it? would he? the man held a simmering hunger always for eset, a heady flirtation for tuna; he enjoyed being used for the pleasure of femininity, and he had no idea how to be a husband.

his icebound eyes mirrored the sentiment in her own for a briefest second. her beauty was achingly powerful; did she not understand how pregnancy would sap so much of this from her? why bear sons to a servant when a divine man would reward her for them?

and yet, "my dove of canaan, yes. i will think on this dream." languid movements to kiss her now, paw upon her nape to bring their faces together; he stirred in desire but the shout of another mazoi for a patrol shut his gaze in annoyance and amusement. another time. "go. i will see you again, inji. and i will think on it."