Lion Head Mesa they feed on temple grain ☥

neith.

"you are a goddess. we worship them."

he grinned, his laughter soft. unused, perhaps. khaemwaset had always been a serious boy, and now even faced with the joy dancing in his sister's eyes, he was not sure how to express his own.

yet she guided him in this even now, and his face remained open. vulnerable.

semer-wati or pharaoh, he would make himself worthy of these moments, of his regard.

at last in jest, uncomfortable with how much of his spirit was visible, he stooped, took up a mouthful of delicate white petals, and snorted them in bullish humour right over neith's ears.