Lion Head Mesa precious moments,

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Credit for the song he sings here: click

Semer-wati had shown many firsts to his wife and watched her endearingly as she contemplated her new filled shape. Innocent, when she felt the flutter of a godling, or shared with him a new contemplation brought about by the growing brood in her belly. There was a new bounce to her step, a sway in which her stomach lapped upon her thighs. Rashepses couldn’t keep his eyes off this new swollen form, rounding so strikingly with his cubs. He reached for her flank every morning to feel how much they’d grown, running his mouth over each anticipating teat. Soon he would share them with their children and they would taste the sweet ambrosia of Pharaoh’s body, but for now she was his— entirely his. 

Eagerly Rashepses took extra care to groom where his wife could not reach, savoring the last weeks of their twosome and coupling them wherever and as often as desires provoked. He knew Toula’s land, he traversed it, and he was a part of her, inside and out.

At nights he dreamed of the four blest faces described by his wife. The Perfect Ones.  Each dream he was called to the cosmos by the major Gods wherein They bestowed upon his babes all the aspects of supreme beings. Strength, intellect, devotion, beauty, benevolence, balance. It was a vision so scared, the four gilded godlings suckling at their mother’s chest, and he would awaken always with the welling sense of immeasurable pride! They would live! They would set forth with Amun-Ra on the red sands, and walk the goodly path of divinity.

In the weeks since the pregnancy every temerarious, overindulged thought now served a greater purpose—  to keep his family safe. Seldom were they parted, and never at nights, when such as this one the king would lay his cheek against the pillow of Toula’s belly and speak stories to their unborn blessings.

“Just as their mother,” the man purred, resisting an impulse to pull his wife into a more amorous position. He shifted so he was holding her, paws tracing down the pinkest part of her belly, toying with the fur there and feeling for the kicks of their fierce creation. Contented, a sigh trailed into her golden crown as he tucked her beneath his chin and quietly began to sing.

“A sycamore sang to Pharaoh fair,
And its words were dropping like honey dew,
Now ruby red is the fruit I bear
All in my bower for you.

Papyri green are my leaves arrayed,
And branch and stem to an opal gleam;
Now come and rest in my cooling shade
The dream of your heart to dream.

A letter of love will my Pharaoh fair,
Send to the one who will happy be,
Saying: ‘Oh, come to my garden rare
And sit in the shade with me.’

Fruit I will gather for your delight,
Hare I will break and pour out wine,
I’ll bring you perfumed flowers and bijou
On this festal day divine.

My lady alone with her lover will be,
His voice is sweet and his words are dear—
Oh, I am silent of all I see,
Nor tell of the things I hear..."

Semer-wati finished the song with a drop of his head to a place where his mouth could suck her neck. "What shall we name them, mry (beloved)?" His voice rumbled over her throat.