Rosewater Oasis this is a joke

his lips brush lightly against her crown one final time before he pulls away.

he drifts toward the shaded palms that frame the oasis. the sandstone slab where he often reclines waits for him, a perch of contemplation and quiet command.

without looking back, his voice carries over the stillness. you are still young, racharra, he says, gilded eyes fixed on the path ahead. in some moons, when the gods have deemed the time right, we shall wed.

his tail flicks behind him as he ascends his sandstone throne. until then, will you join me? then, with a gesture of his paw to what lay before them, he intones: what do you see for our vahanet?