Lion Head Mesa myrrh in a dove's age ☥

alight with hootings of laughter and gentle nips to her velveteen face, khaemwaset reveled in her joy and sought to bring her more; he kicked away a servant's nurturing hand and overturned a tonic that tavina had set out, chuckling it shattered and spilled.

"satakh," khaem said, as much of her name as he could yet utter, "rain?" he had loved the sound at once upon hearing it; was it the same for her? 

let it be, and he would bring her at once into its touch.