Lion Head Mesa a whispering god

he had no answer for that, for any of it. to machiavelli's statement he gave a look and a nod, but senmut felt he was in danger of falling into a despair. 

almost did the red prince part his jaws to utter his secret, one less dire than the death of ramesses — or was it? — 

but he could not. how might after all these words he share the corruption that the Semer-wati had unleashed inside his own flesh? senmut did not even know how to name it. he had not wanted it — until desire had risen, the pleasure of being rutted inside a divine hierarchy in which there could be no ascension for him.

"is there not a prison inside muat-riya?" he asked, turning with great effort his thoughts from the circling of this bleak air.