Lion Head Mesa Nefrew

Treasured, tenderly supported within the growing strength of his boyish paws, Den intuits her every want for affection. She is heard without ever once speaking.

Slowly, their noses graze and the girl squeals again, chiming with delight and burrowing deeper into the earthen fold of brother's arms. Arranging herself comfortably against him, soon the blush of her cheek is propped up on the prince’s shoulder, lids falling blissfully in the cloudless afternoon he creates for her.

Neith is spoken like a prayer, she opens her eyes to nuzzle the twin face that looms above her’s.

It was Den who would protect her from hurt. Den who would chase her every shadow away.

And as she drifts to slumber, he is on her lips still.

Den, Den, Den…

Her song of songs.