Two Eyes Cenote Sleep over

Upon entering the palace, Rooke watched Machiavelli dust off and followed suit with a purposeful shake of each paw. Looking down, he became acutely aware of the well-maintained floor and the cleanliness of the palace. A frown pulled at his lips as he became acutely aware of how dirty he was. He stole a glance in several directions, expecting to find a dissatisfied set of eyes looking back at him.

Even with no one to be found, Rooke shrunk and kept close to Machi's flank. Gaze flitting about as they proceeded further into the palace. He stood out like a sore thumb and the thought creeped uncomfortably down his spine.

As if to make him more self-conscious, they are brought to halt by a group. A very important group. He is made to understand that quickly as lofty titles are hurled his way. His stomach somersaulted. Dropping his gaze, he drew a forepaw close to his chest before taking a slow step back. Heat creeping across his face, up to his ears, and down his neck.

He found himself unable to speak past his rapidly constricting throat. It wasn't like this phar-aoh and king were talking directly to him, right?

But they were looking at him. Oh they all were looking at him. He desperately wished he could crawl into his own skin.

He peaked up towards Machi, a silent plea for some sort of direction. What was he supposed to do? He never met a pharaoh before. What even was a pharaoh anyway?

With soft eyes, he stole a glance to the pharaoh-woman. He managed to barely croak out his own name, Rooke.