Lion Head Mesa Nefrew

No other looked upon her the way he did.

She was rapt. A girl young, naive, blind to the culture and dictations that were already set in motion to define the seasons of her lifetime, the princess knew only that when Den called for her, she was pulled to answer.

His rays encompass her. Here was a place nothing else could touch her, where their blood beat in absolute unison, and within her tiny mind was a deep and primordial understanding that to behold Den was to behold her God.

She smiles; her mother’s smile. Momma, who she considered a model by which to mold her life, and grazes his wet nose with her own, giggling at the ticklish sensation when their whiskers brushed.