Lion Head Mesa toy soldier's march

gucci wilted in the pause - expressed by the droop of his ears, brows and the corner of the blank smile he tried to keep. the following sentences did only little for bolstering, and the man sat, raised a paw to his mouthline and muttered into it as he summarized his options.

maybe.

maybe was enough to have hope. the name wasn't outlandish enough to the young wolf's ears to be dismissed, but even if this "samirseti" had no relation to the divine husband - this scout clearly knew of akashingo.

if members of it were welcome in the court of the new pharaoh, gucci could seek asylum.

no knowing...

ah, but gucci knew, didn't he? a vast majority of his compatriots now laid dead beneath the red keep, and in the quiet of the previous night the little lord had shed tears and screamed mournful wails til the echo reverberated within his own ears. 

but some must have lived - he knew gods wouldn't let a fool like him go and take other, far kinder and devout souls.

you- gucci's head snapped up, paw lowered. what's ya name, son? ya pharaoh-- he- he needs ya back now, yea?