Lake Bismuth I’m shipping up to Boston.

Samirseti lay reclined atop a smooth rock overlooking the scattered pools of Lake Bismuth, his dark pelt kissed by the sun’s golden rays. The heat of the day was soothing, a welcome balm to his regal form as he basked in quiet solitude. His gilded eyes, half-lidded in leisure, idly swept over the shimmering expanse before him.

The pools glistened like fragments of the sun itself, their surfaces dancing with golden light. Samir shifted slightly, his languid movements precise and feline, the very picture of a king at ease. This land was not part of his oasis, not yet his domain—but it was a treasure all the same, one he appreciated from afar.

Movement at the edges of his vision drew his attention, his molten gaze sharpening as he watched the figures below. A boy darted between the pools, his youthful energy palpable even at a distance, while the woman accompanying him—his mother, Samir assumed—lingered at the water’s edge.

He did not rise, nor did he call out. For now, he was content to observe, his golden eyes glinting as they followed their movements. The desert was vast, and its treasures many. Samir’s tail flicked lazily behind him, his expression unreadable, save for the faint curl of amusement at the corners of his lips.

Let them drink, let the boy frolic.