Lion Head Mesa Toiling

"such beauty deserves the luxuriant," senmut answered, surprised at himself and yet perhaps not. "and it deserves bespoilment," he breathed, thinking of machiavelli even as his heart beat now with the noble thrum of a prince's rank.

did not princes have what they wanted?

"i was only a peasant before the gods chose me as a scribe, and then the priesthood took me as a fledgling we'eb. what you see is greatness given to those who do not deviate in their worship."

his own paw, turning to cup the warmth of their palms together for a moment that did not end.