Lion Head Mesa a whispering god

"thank you, machiavelli. truly." and for a moment the despair lifted, and his face was brushed with another expression: a mild desire he turned away at once. "if herod was worse than rashepses, and you escaped, then i should have no fear of my own."

he and makono, standing before fennec.

the image eclipsed any bodily want; he felt his shoulders loose and a horrid exhaustion stealing into every limb, a tiredness that had nothing to do with physicality.

"will you stay?" senmut asked before the nerve left him; "stay with me, tonight. we do not even need to inhabit only this room. but i take comfort in your company, machiavelli. you bring me peace."