Lion Head Mesa Chrysanthemum

Traces of Khaem leap first into her nose. The intensity after so long apart sends wave after wave of sorrow through her body. She remembers his eyes that night– how even in betrayal they glittered more deeply than any stowed jewel within these annals.

The princess turns her gaze northward, using the hook of paw to brush dust from the honey-gold brow. Her mother’s loyal priest is welcomed among the amassing monuments.

“I would very much like to hear it, erpa-ha,” she invites, glad because it gives her something to think about other than the mess of confusion that has opened up in her chest.

Her attention in full rests upon the pastoral wisdom of the prince.