Lion Head Mesa the darkest side of me

Eivor remained silent—steadfast. The peripheral of his vision indicated she took in her surroundings in a manner that seemed unassuming and with grace. Akavir withheld the smirk that wished to press upon him, knowing that the long-limbed shield maiden was scoping in silence—an unwoken dragon that would rise to the challenge, should it be required.

He trusted Toula—but he did not revel bringing any woman here, no matter their capability to keep their own. If he heard any whispers of improper conduct with the valley wolves offering their services—he would end the agreement immediately. No questions asked.

His words were a murmur as he spoke to a mazoi—they were to be invited within and settled, and then a meeting with Senmut. He exhaled softly, a nod given, his eyes cutting from Eivor to the fellahin beckoned forward, just as a soft voice laced the warmer airs.

‘….Belen…’

He was rooted. No amount of training, no amount of surviving life’s messiest moments could keep the shock from his features—blue eyes stared up at him briefly—something flashing upon the features he had come to know so well, for he had traced her face with kisses and lingering touches over and over.

'Ask for Jawahir while you are there. Tell her Belen sent you.' The memory rushed back to him--the seer of the kiss she had placed upon him before his departure. She was not meant to be here. She was meant to be with her wife—their children. Off into the sunset and living her happily ever after. Not here. Never here, ever again.

Autopilot kicked in—he was stepping after her—eyes tracing the quake of her own limbs—feeling the same reverberations in his own heart. His mind grasped at anything—but he held his tongue, for now.

Eivor at his side—yet he was numbed.