Lion Head Mesa glory & garbling

drained, that bowl, and khusobek decided he wanted another. strong-armed, he kept machiavelli at his side and chose a path for them to his own sparse chambers with the unloved bed and the splashing of a private shower. for the captain, this was preferable to the lately quite-popular wellspring, and he would grant his companion space once they had arrived.

"safiya fought bravely. she is a mazoi, and in becoming this she is no longer a girl. she does not blame you. and i do not blame you."

poppets of pine marked the space where a near-constant stream of water flowed over red stone and was carried off by an aperture near the floor.

he had the ability then to call for another servant but did not; the crocodile regarded machiavelli with a bluster of gruffness and set several dry pelts nearby.

turning his head away, at the door he ordered for fatted meat and servings of a more opulent drink. "it is said that when ramesses was pharaoh, he decreed pine-sap be fermented with the same berries we enjoy. it is potent," the captain went on to explain dryly, "and will take the pain and embarrassment away without a single visit to tavina."