Valley of Gold the drake

nectanebo lifts his head at the approach of another, red eyes warming at the sight of his man. he had hoped samirseti would come. alay-basi resists the temptation to bury his muzzle in silken neck fur, instead sidling to stand by his side, shoulders nearly brushing. then, he refocuses his attention on the starving man, the one he has so kindly fed. the one who dares defy him, but he will not do so now. not if he wants to live.

"you wandered here, alone. weak. i have been polite. i have fed you. you now stand before the undisputed ruler of these lands, hem-netjer en kemet."

"bow." the word cuts through the thick desert air, unrepentantly dominant in its command.

"bow to your pharaoh." his voice holds no hint of formality, playful demeanor gone. his pharaoh is present, and such disrespect will not be tolerated. the stranger will relent now, or he will be lucky to leave these lands in one piece.