Lion Head Mesa Times being what they are

any+ all !

The mesa.

She would have laughed if she were not so done in. But there it pervades, red and dancing in the heat’s radiating illusion.

Three weeks of nothing, not a soul, not even a tree to shelter beneath so that her hide might not be subject to the raid of unabating sun. She could hear Ra’s laughter, as if to say: this is the plight of every mortal.

But by the low light of Khonsu’s moon she was lured to the faraway plateau, the only landmark that signifies she can’t be nowhere. And it’s her mother’s word spoken when she finally breaches her cusp, eyes drawing up the length to her apex before collapsing into exhaustion. 

“Akashingo,” She breathes, jaws part to call out but merely wheeze instead.