Two Eyes Cenote ninety-sixth

Senmut listened—Akavir found his voice losing its adamancy as he continued to weave recollections for the priest. It had been chaotic—what had been captured in his mind didn’t necessarily mean what had occurred—and he found his head bowing slightly.

“Black. Large. Grey eyes,” he offered, feeling a sardonic quirk of his lips with the knowledge of how vague a description this was. “Nothing about him stood out, at least physically.”

None had seemed to know him—the idea that Eset had been a target enraged him—but the moment had felt as if a predator had only sought to eliminate prey. What the stranger had likely determined as an easy kill—

—vile.

He leaned his muzzle down, rubbing the side of his face and temple to a forearm in one swift moment, as if the brief pressure would vanquish the headache that throbbed.

What else was there to truly say? Being ensconced in these walls was unfathomable for much longer—yet knowing he had to leave behind the broken Hebsut was something that began to steal away that part of his clarity.