Sheepeater Cliff eighty-seventh

it was a foul thing, to have the word and then to lose it.

legend was silent. machiavelli was resplendent. the priest glanced between the both of them and relented, only for a moment; "they say germanicus once traveled with a young man. there were rumours. but that one was indeed a prince briefly in akashingo, and germanicus served many times. when crowfeather disappeared from akashingo, so followed mereo, it seemed."

he left them with that gem — he too barely touched the beautiful meal, sighing in regret at last.

bidding them a fine evening, senmut stalked to his blankets, wrapped himself in them, and spent a long while in silent, still contemplation with no possibility of sleep.

his thoughts were upon the romans, the story of their odd relationship which had somehow shaped the fate of the outpost, or perhaps it was not. but so it seemed.