Lion Head Mesa glory & garbling

a second for him. a second for machiavelli. the crocodile's head was swimming in merciful bliss quickly, though it had yet to affect the rest of his muscular body. that small paw did not go without answer; khusobek shoved his allotment of clams across the eating-place with no nuance whatsoever.

brow arched, as if to defy as he bit into the mutton and felt his belly sigh with pleasure. "i tortured the piss from soto. they came to claim him," and his jawline suddenly jumped in thrumming rage. "they had caught safiya."

a bone splintered under his furred fist, and now the staring eyes saw nothing. "they put out her eye for soto's torture. i gave him up and she came to us." the man's voice was dead. "i carried her to akashingo and i went back to find soto."

teeth glinted humorlessly. "i found him, they had stolen nokht. tortured him. i was prepared to die, machiavelli, one of their number's spine all but snapped in my teeth. pharaoh came then, and consort, and mazoi, and kingsguard. their leader was killed, they scattered. i will never have my ear again and this place will never grow fur again, i am told," flexing it for machiavelli to see.

"and the gods have denied me revenge yet again."