Sunset Valley he stole her youth

she answers, offering him something deeper than what he'd asked. spirits. nova peak. winsook. he picks apart the word 'spirits', lingering longer in his mind as it did. interesting, he finds, that she speaks of spirits, of ancestors calling her there ... but not her heart.
but he knows better than many what the rage of blood left denied does. the genetics of primordial gods ignored in the favor of whatever frivolities his father-pharaoh had chased after spurning him, after trying to deny him. it is his father's handsome face he sees in his reflection, it is the same cruel eyes. he misses only the twisted, misshapen flesh 'round his left eye and mouth. a mark of the gods he'd been born with, whispered the priestesses when they'd thought young abydos had been milkdrunk and asleep.
would you take me there, this winsook? i've been searching for a place to call home ... for a very long time, his grin is small, almost sheepish; charming. maybe he would find it in winsook ... and maybe he wouldn't — only shai could foresee that.
and on the way, maybe you could tell me of your ancestors?