Lion Head Mesa hsekiu

He had seen the men come to tempt Toula and to charm her, and it wasn't until he had laid eyes upon Rashepses that Harakhte took himself from their number. He lingered long enough to see the first of the visitors clamboring for the cenote, and then he had dispersed; his soothsayer flanking him, whispering of plans and plots and all manner of things, none of which he took heed of. In this venture he had lost. The girl had made her choice and it was a strong one—and it was not himself that was chosen. He did not slight the girl for this. He knew the gods had made their choice through her, and in time they would turn their eye upon him also, and he only needed to wait.
To wait was not something he wanted. Harakhte was a man of action; even if that action was reserved to subterfuge and trickery, he prefered to keep himself busy. During this time in the southern desert he managed to convince his honor guard to stand down; they kept a greater distance from him as with each passing day his ire grew, and soon enough even the soothsayer did not wish to keep his company. The ruse was successful in that it granted Harakhte solitude.
In that solitude, he met the Old Gods of his mother; he made his wishes, and formed his pacts, and watched each night as the stars wrote his future. And when he'd been given enough vision in this way, Harakhte branched further from his protectors and fled again, north. He followed those stars until they aligned above Muat-Riya; he passed this pleasure palace by and merged with the retreating rear-guard of party-goers. As these splintered in to their various factions, he was focused on only Akashingo.
Thus when the man arrived this second time to the familiar arches of the Red Palace, he did so unaided. His princely bearing remained, but there was a wildness to him now that spoke of his solitude.