Lion Head Mesa Akhet of two lands

he had sent more gifts to neith: cougar claws, a polished set. a dead bird of radiant feathers, preserved in the desert. the skull of a buzzard found upon the steppes.

he was numb to this already, his game. neith did not need gifts; he was he who needed to send them, to absolve through wealth what had happened beneath ramesses' eye.

"can you not see i am busy!" he rounded upon the quailing fellahin meant to fetch him. but secretly khaemwaset was relieved at the interruption, for once more had he entered his own mind only to return some unknown amount of time. and this day, upon recovering himself, the prince had looked down in horror to see that he had scratched into the packed red earth a map of his grandfather's tomb.

he walked before the servant, sensing where the semer-wati must be. "father. i am here." he entered with a low bow, but at once his proud attention fixed to the stranger in the room. there was a familiarity here; khaemwaset glanced between rashepses and this one twice before speaking. "is he one of us?"