Lion Head Mesa the darkest side of me

The gloating cat that held the cream—he could feel Senmut’s eyes boring into him, but his were for Silvertongue alone. She remembered nothing—and the stoical mask the man kept so carefully in place began to falter at the denial within her—that Senmut would not see fit to even correct her in regards to the Pharaoh and his death.

She could not stay here—his gaze darted to Eivor—then back. He could not take her against her will—would not.

“It is a sad day to witness a man glowing in satisfaction at the delusions and downfall of an innocent woman,” he sneered to Senmut, then, gaze hardening. “If you think this vindicates Akashingo in any way—you’d be wrong. The smugness on your face only reiterates everything I have said.”

With that, he stood straighter—a flick of his tail indicating—he hoped—to Eivor they would be leaving almost immediately.

“Silver—Belen,” he amended, eyes beseeching once more as she questioned the priest of her Pharaoh. “Come with me. Please. I will show you… I’ll show you Riverclan. Where you lived with Crowfeather—where you fell in love with your wife.” Where you had chosen them both, over me. And where the fuck were they, now? “I can show you Qeya River… Where you and Wren settled to have your pups. If… You don’t remember. I’ll bring you back here. I won’t keep you from…” The bitterness that clung to his tongue was acidic. “I won’t keep you from where you want to be.”