Two Eyes Cenote Woma

The night sires the broad shape of a wolf, and as he moves within range Stark’s smile is met with the hebsut’s own thrill. She strains taller, straightening her soles on the dry bedrock that juts like a prow into the moonlit dark. The stars illuminate his deep green eyes as he comes to stand in the center of the constellation.

First, she is silent; prayerful, and most intensely proud of the man begotten in faith. She holds his brilliant gaze and begins:

“Stark, mazoi to Muat-riya, the Gods have seen your face and heard the power in your step. Manifold are your deeds, guardian of the cenotes, protector of men, guide of the stars. By Their will, you are Their servant. But to be reborn, you must first be buried.”

The night rings to the sound of Eset’s voice. She approaches now, looking up into the hardline features of his face. A paw is immersed into a wet, brim-full lotus leaf at their feet, cupping sacred waters of the cenote between webbed toes. To his strong silver shoulder she places her hand, cleansing him while the night looks on.

“Are you ready?” Her tone is emphatic as she repeats the process to his left side, water drizzling from her hand down onto the mixed gray fur of his legs.