Lion Head Mesa shaduf [m]

Seeing the man again took Charles' breath away. He felt fear and trepidation lash at him at the sheer sight of Ramesses. The man himself looked incredibly careless. Another might be insulted, but Charles was used to this kind of treatment. He actually preferred to be looked at in this way. It was what he was used to. His mother never looked at him, and he pestered her all the time to make her see that he was worth her attention. Whenever others looked at him like he was worth something — Leta, the Firefly Glen friends he'd made — it brought a pressure that he couldn't really handle. It was alright to be seen as a nobody. It felt safe, like a comfortable blanket draped over him.

The coywolf just nodded and dipped his head respectfully in response to the welcome; he was not sure what a proper greeting would be. His tail hung low behind his legs, pressed against his hocks in a subconscious display of nervousness and submissive. Charles licked his lips, another show of the very same. His eyes were cold and void of emotions, but the rest of his body told the truth about how he felt.

The expression on Ramesses' face did not help. A visible shiver ran down Charles' spine as he practically felt the eyes of the Pharaoh onto him. When he had met the man in the Saints, he'd been just another nobody, like Charles himself. Now he was a king, and it showed in everything about him.

Why he was still interested in someone as worthless as Charles was beyond him.

The Pharaoh asked him to drink, and Charles nodded awkwardly. Drink? Water? Then berries were rolled towards him. Charles' voice was hoarse as he scraped his throat and then asked, Ah... Drink? These..? He hated how dumb he sounded, but he knew nothing about the customs of this place. He had not settled down yet, instead standing around awkwardly, almost as if he was waiting for some sort of permission.