Golden Glade One summer day

nyra, materializing to bristle alongside him with dislike and bloodmeat intent. ramesses dipped his head to the moonlit woman, a pleasant grin lighting his handsome features. his focus, now, upon the insulted and hapless young peasant before them.
"the saints do not need borders, we have our name," the exile purred, as much to prod the appealing blacktint shape as to appeal toward nyra and her sense of honor, of violent response to what she saw as her own.
"what would you offer to pass through this shadow of death?" pharaoh teased, though now his sly lapis gaze traveled with a lecherous and blatant understanding across the features that still, he could not be sure, was only wolf.