Lion Head Mesa Zinnia

She admires the quilted coloring of him as his head lowers, the silken fur with a luminous quality.

“Please, be at ease,” the amiirad directs, her fiery eyes melting to a warm rose with a gentle smile. “I’ve heard about you. You’re Machiavelli— is that correct?”

Curious, the princess steps into the physician’s rooms and bends a wondering nose over the shell mortar for a closer look. “You see, I have a very important task for a fellahin named Machiavelli.”