Lion Head Mesa For the record, if I don't make it out of here, don't put me down for mummification.

The mazoi that had come along with him now rested within the barracks, which itself was situated a distance from the palace proper. One of his attendants stood at the door to a spacious subterranean room, whale-eyed and lightly trembling. The other had been sent on their way to acclimate to the halls and to learn best from the native fellahin of Akashingo, so that they could best attend their prince. In time these servants would switch places.

The soothsayer was standing in the hallway. Nobody spoke, not until Lady De Vries had shown them to the room and left them to their adjustment and their rest; and it was at that time Harakhte leveled his ignoble gaze upon the advisor as if to say, hold your tongue. The man did, of course. He knew better than to offend his prince even if it felt blasphemous to be here, in the bowels of the earth.

Rather than take out his fears and frustrations verbally, as he was wont to do, the priest snapped at the fellahin's hips, and hocks, and urged them to get inside the room. Someone had to suss out the dangers, and he was not interested in doing it himself! Neither could they call upon their own mazoi, as they were not present. So off the fellahin went, scurrying to every corner, sniffing and shuffling, until they came back around to the door and bowed their head.

Well? Speak! The soothsayer all but hissed; Harakhte grew quickly tired of the tone of the man's voice, and the dramatics of it all, so he shoved both aside to enter without waiting. A slight roll of his eyes was all the fellahin noticed as they were heaved towards a wall.

The room was spacious and well tended; there was dust, but it was red and impossible to cleanse from the room, as it was fine stone powder. There were clean furs the likes of which Harakhte had never seen before, piled and arranged for a bed. Segments of worn stone along the farthest wall could have been a shelf. It was fine accomodation.

The prince chuffed, serendipitously cutting through the soothsayer's own throat-clearing as he was preparing to let fly his tongue. After a strangled look, the stooped man scowled and turned to remove himself. He had his own quarters to investigate and Harakhte did not need to be watched at all times — no matter what he had been taught. The fellahin took the cue as well, and departed with a hasty retreat.

Leaving the prince alone, to stretch and to breathe, for the first time in many weeks.