Lion Head Mesa blood-gift

He saw him. Black frame stole towards him like an adder. Poised. Practiced. Proud. As if Amani could not strike him now. As if he was not the viper.

Not much had changed.

You know, he said, nuanced, quiet, as of the desert, as though hewn from coarse sand. He had killed bigger kings in moments like these; but he would not say it, and most who knew were already dead.

He shifted his gaze away from surveying the trophies, the altars, the trinkets, to settle on Rashepses.

Most.