Two Eyes Cenote wheel & sling

there was no sound save for the murmur of khusobek at the doorway, bidding that something be brought. he leant against the stone lintel then, watching the wolfdog cavort and laugh in his own madness.

khusobek no longer believed the story of this herod, or at very least found it sorely omitting several steep details, such as the apparent madness of this man who enjoyed being struck.

that interested the crocodile, titillated him. a snap of his tail let the second servant enter, and a length of something was deposited into his grasp.

when the crocodile returned to the light, he held up the stiff coils of vine studded by cruel thorns. in the icewater eyes there was no malice, only that intrigue of detached observation. 

once more machiavelli was seized, and this time khusobek did chuckle. fun was wanted. fun would be had. he forced the man back down beneath him in some parody of intimate touch, letting weight pin the servant's chest, and grabbed the vine. "i tire of your voice, dear heart," and he sought to wrap its ready loops around the grinning muzzle, batting away the fellahin's ineffectual attempts to fight back if any were made.