Two Eyes Cenote song of the dragon

Rashepses was silent through it all. The whispers, the reticent gatherings, always quick to dispel. The residents of Muat-riya ought to be blowing him kisses for their victory at the pass; for reinstating the safety of their summer palace. But Semer-wati had grown accustomed to the way his people misunderstood every hard decision he made. He was curiously calm, in spite of palace talk, only sweeping down the halls in concern when Toula sang her laments.

“Leave us,” he commanded of their attendants, struck by his wife’s mourning. Her eyes were reddened and still she shone so fine and pure in blonde silks that Rashepses felt a crass man in contrast.

The golden gaze swelled with disquiet, he moved to guide Toula into his chest. “She will return, my sweet,” he crooned, stroking the edge of her cheek with a roughened paw.

His nose dropped so he could see into Pharaoh's afflicted face, “there is so much here for us to commemorate.”