Lion Head Mesa sycamore of the sky ☥

Den felt the prod of his father's paw against his small frame and he responded by pressing back. Catlike in the way that he sought the touch of anyone, anything that would give him the attention he deserved. Khaemwaset was a noisy brother. He was not the glimmering gold of Neith. There was darkness upon his coat. Darkness deeper than the earthy base of Den's belly and paws. It was a curious thing... to observe this bold little sound that emerged from Khaemwaset's mouth. 

Rashepses asked if Den was a lion too. 

The boy was not so eager to display his spiritual power. Even at an age when the concept would not make sense, he understood on some intimate level that he was better left to conceal. The hand he had would remain close to his chest. 

Instead of roaring with pride, Den put space between himself and Khaemwaset. He pressed himself possessively to his father's leg. His eyes were trained upon his brother.