Lion Head Mesa Was-sceptre

the one-eyed mazoi, having just returned from akashingo where he'd escorted machiavelli to find that eset had not returned. and now, he was heading back. his future, his fate: whether punishment would befall him or not and to what severity it would be lingers heavy in meseba's mind. in his shoulders, held proud but weighted by the press of the unknown.

endlessly, he worried for eset. she should've beaten him back to the cenote. she should've been there: but she had not been.

thoughts plague him like an unyielding ouroboros; a thousand yard stare clouding his singular gaze as he stands, with no belongings, waiting instructions.

rest was but a fantasy and not one that meseba could allow himself to divulge in.