Lion Head Mesa a whispering god

Many thoughts warred within the dog's head: Eset who had not been found by his messenger, Khusobek who lay injured, and Tavina who had been imprisoned at the behest of their oh-so-revered leader. Yet, through it all, one image burned brightest—the wicked glint of Herod's fangs.

When Senmut’s breath found his throat, it was that image that held Machi captive, and for a moment, he was in another place, surrounded by rivers of shining gold. He blinked, pale lashes fluttering like moth wings against the haze of his thoughts.

It was a long moment of heavy silence before the dog could open his mouth to reply, and another pause further still before words emerged, torn between relief and want, and exhaustion, worry, and pain.

Did Senmut know of Tavina's imprisonment and the reason behind it? He lifted a paw, his innate grace at odds with the trembling that betrayed him, and brushed it against the priest's cheek, a sick feeling rising in his stomach.

Machi’s lips quirked into a brittle shadow of their usual smirk. He leaned in, placing a teasing kiss featherlight on the man’s brow, the kind of armor he donned so easily, yet so transparently.

Not when I’m this revolting, you beast, he murmured, voice low, an attempt at humor threading through the exhaustion that lined every syllable.