Lion Head Mesa a whispering god

It was only once he was led from the water that the tremors claimed him—small at first, then growing until they coursed through his frame in waves; for he was well and truly cold, yet the freeze seemed secondary in Machi's thoughts. The rabbit-skin bag was gathered again with care, and as they walked, he pressed against the Prince for warmth, his body soft and subdued, expression teasing. Long lashes fluttered and dipped low in a flirtation that bordered on coy, and yet, it wasn’t Senmut’s face that occupied his attention; it was the faces of those who passed them by, making note of any that seemed to linger just too long in his periphery.

When they arrived, the bag was discarded with haste, dropped to the nearest surface and accompanied by a single pointed warning: Don’t touch.

While Senmut busied himself, Machi stood sentinel at the threshold, languid beneath the pelt's warmth. He leaned against the cavern's wall, gaze locked on the corridor beyond, pale eyes unblinking. It is dangerously easy to grow complicit and malleable in the embrace of comfort, came the gentle reply, though the dog's stare never left the hall.

Only when the meal was set and the silence stretched long enough to assure him they were truly alone did Machi finally allow himself to sit. He accepted the hide with a grateful nod and pulled it tightly around his trembling frame, posture shifting as one rounded ear angled sharply toward the doorway, ever-vigilant.

As I have heard, Tavina was attacked and imprisoned, Machi began, voice low. Due to my injuries, Eset left me to return ahead to Muat-riya, however, when a messenger was sent to her, they returned without a reply. She could not be found.