Lion Head Mesa a whispering god

The half-breed let out a soft sigh, nestling into the furs. It’s nothing so grand as that, he murmured, the words trailing off like smoke, his voice carrying the faintest lilt of humor. You’ll find me an incredibly dutiful little servant. A glimmer of playfulness danced in his tone, though it lacked the energy of earlier hours.

I left pelts out to dry this morning; they’ll need returning to the storeroom, he continued, his words punctuated by a yawn that stretched him long and lean against the bedding, before he curled his tail over his paws, everything else has been completed. A long pause followed, the dog’s tired eyes lingering on the russet face before him, blinking heavy and slow, as though savoring the image.

When he spoke again, it was with a softness that barely disturbed the air: Thank you, Machi said at last, perhaps catching the prince as he turned to leave. For today, darling—and for speaking with me. I would never confess it to anyone else, but I was… worried. A pause, brief but laden, embarrassed by the admission. It isn’t so now.