Luneshale Pass Hazırlıklar

The desert air was still as Samirseti waited at the pass, his golden eyes fixed on the horizon, sharp and unwavering. He knew Arslan would come—he always did. The lion was as reliable as the sun rising over the sands, drawn to him with the same inevitability as a tide to the moon.

When the familiar figure appeared, Samir's tail flicked with calculated ease, betraying none of the simmering anticipation that stirred within him. The roses caught the fading light as they swung gently in Arslan's jaws.

A slow, satisfied grin spread across his face.

“You are late, Nefer,” Samir purred a blend of chastisement and indulgence. He stepped forward with deliberate slowness, closing the space between them with the same languid hunting as he always did.

He leaned in, his muzzle brushing against Arslan’s. “Are those for me?”