Valley of Gold Son of Ra

Samir’s leisurely pace slowed as his sharp gaze swept across the plains, golden eyes narrowing slightly against the sun’s bright glare. It was the faint shift of a figure on the horizon that first caught his attention—a wolf reclining in the grass, still as a statue. Samir paused, his ebony frame cutting a stark figure against the golden backdrop of the lowlands, and tilted his head with faint curiosity.

He considered the stranger from afar, his lips curling into a faint smirk that was equal parts intrigue and condescension. Such a posture spoke of boredom or disdain—or perhaps both.

Samirseti could sympathize.

Thus, he resumed his stride, more deliberate now, his steps carrying him closer to the lone wolf with an air of lazy confidence. When he was a mere few meters away, Samir halted, his golden eyes sweeping over the stranger’s form with a cool, assessing look.

His long legs folded beneath him as he, too, relaxed into a reclined position, letting his belly press to the frosted grass that sprouted across the desert.

He said nothing. Only laid in silence.