Lion Head Mesa they feed on temple grain ☥

There; the laughter.

His grin, his true, rare grin that always had a little naughtiness in it.

She understood why it was so hard for him, that he towed the same delicate score between child and god that put him at odds with all the mortal world. In these moments she learned from Khaem and his transcendence, when he looked at her as if he had the soul of an ancient God forced into a child’s framework.

And she, his inverse. A child grappling with her godhood. Reminding him how to laugh.

Neith bucks backwards into his gusts, making a fool’s game of seeing how many flower petals she can fit into her mouth before sneezing them all out. She scampers gleefully about the room, only ceasing at the lancet of a little window outside her bedroom to see that the sun is setting on yet another day.

One more day without momma and daddy.

“What if… they never come back."