Storm Watch Butte A Band of Demons Joined in and it Sounded Something Like This

pupils spread as the gifts were shown. slight sway of his tail as they were brought nearer, then given. the manged man looked incredulously from them to the elder - leg of beast to his chest, packet of medicine in the crook of an arm - awaiting the proverbial rug be pulled from under him.

no such finish.

a small smile, for this man who he trusted as much as any other of his kind, then got to dropping and arranging the items in a way best for carrying.

the question perked his ears.

lips pulled back in an expression that seemed first to shape into a grin, then became a grimace.

hebsut. emphasized by an angry roll of eyes. y'know what tongue that is, sir? a bad one. mizraim.

he hunched, not looking at his conversation partner, but across the expanse of the lowlands, towards the cenote.

they're pharaoh-people, with ten thousand lil' gods. who knows what goes in their lands. but, again, i remind y'all - they'd accept me into the fold.

the items were arranged, yet as the manged went to take them into his jaws, he paused. looked up.

anythin' more y'all need from me, sir?

his grin was stiff and painful.