Lion Head Mesa The winged sun

They two were not alone this hour. The priest-prince would find himself encompassed by the intangible and their scents; ichor and nectar, and excellences bursting from pinpointed gazes, wrought from the very stone which proved their destruction in each long moan. Rashepses opened his mouth to ash and smoke from the fires waiting to be brought down upon the unruly heads.

A hand shot forward. Claws curled against the taught skin of that red shoulder. “She lifts her voice against her God. His commands are violated; respect is shunned! In muat-riya, order and tradition has been ejected, while chaos is the council chamber. The affairs of the Gods are confounded, their will neglected! The land is suffering, the people in mourning, and all alike are subjected to wrongdoing.”

The head pulled high and arrogant. This was not the burden he would leave to his sons, no. They would be the beginning of a return to heritage.

“Changes are happening, Senmut. It is not like last year. Let us end it here, before Their wrath is brought down upon Akashingo, too. Make an example of the sesh, Erpa-ha.”