Lion Head Mesa twelfth

senmut bent his head apologetically and in reverence.

close at paw was a small pool of ink, silt dredged and dried and mixed again until it was near black.

nala breathed.

the priest, and he was that in this moment, made the first incision, in the flesh over the priestess' womb as he had said. blood trickled through the short fur. he did not hesitate, afraid that if he did, he would lose the moment's magick.

a rough whorl, as close as wolf-teeth could make it.

senmut wiped ink to the bleeding marks, once, twice. he looked up toward her face.