Lion Head Mesa Toiling

Isetnofret lay draped across the fur-lined rug, his pale frame languid and elegant, like the soft curve of sand dunes beneath the moonlight.

His mind heavy with thoughts of splendor. Of luxury.

He is swept up in the whirlwind of emotions produced by these possibilities. He is swept up in Senmut's undividing attention. His devout touch.

Isis is lulled to a comfortable silence. Content to bask in the warmth of the fur rug he lays upon, swathed in the scent. A paw reaches to press to Senmut's side, followed by a nose ruffling the fur at the base of his throat.

Comfortable silence.

He hums, softly. Warmly. He wishes not to move. To ever leave.