Lion Head Mesa Covered in gold, forgetting my skin

o hi

It was the quiet before the storm, though the rain poured relentlessly outside. Sihaya slunk down the Mesa’s red halls and followed the sound of muffled voices. He hovered in the shadows before turning the corner to peer, with his dark face, into Germanicus’ chambers. He watched the soldier place the soaked moss with care before prying into their tender moment.

“The boy lives,” Sihaya interjected plainly, almost monotone. “My, how you care for him. I don’t believe you’ve left his side,” he observed. Were they brothers? Friends? Lovers? Sihaya was thirsty to know.