Lion Head Mesa Thárros

The noise of the mesa had returned to normal, even with the Roman gone – hunting for the white witch and her few followers. From what he had overheard of the returned warriors, it had not been much of a fight at all. Such frivolous chatter of war for it to have fizzled into nothing. Arsenio wondered if the white wolf – the former leader of the Saints – was ashamed of herself for running from the chaos she had caused. It brought him a modicum of amusement as he watched the Fellahin chatter and mull about the mesa caverns.

Arsenio had started to feel the efforts of watching over the queen night and day. He had not slept a full night for himself, had not found a moment of peace to enjoy a filling meal. The only moments he had stolen away for himself had been interrupted by the falling leaf, Tamar. They were interruptions that the Greek would gladly accept, any chance he could.

The man searched for food so that he could leave it outside the queen’s bedchamber – a breakfast in the later hours of morning light.

jawahir presumed, wrongly, that pharaoh had found satsu willing on his return from war, as so many women felt keenly the absence of their men and sought to repay their valor on the field.

it was enough to make jawahir lose interest in all things.

the morning light found its way to the first chambers of the palace, to the alcove where jawahir had bedded, watching the hallway while it felt as though ants crawled beneath the surface of their skin.

they watched for satsu's movements; they watched to see who flit in or out of the wellspring.

it was early when the bronzed figure of arsenio crossed through the fellahin's vision; intrigued by his antics, jawahir rose to follow.

It did not take long for the Greek man to feel the presence of his follower.

Sweeping his icy gaze back over his shoulder, Arsenio caught sight of one of the Fellahin. It was a wolf he had not spoken to, not on his own. Still, the figure was not unfamiliar. This was one of the Pharaoh’s playthings, perhaps even one of his favorites. The guard could smell the ruler on Jawahir’s pelt even at a distance.

Hello, Fellahin, do you need a guard to escort you somewhere? Arsenio called out to the figure, his voice cheery. There was a pleasant swinging to the auburn wolf’s hips. He made a wide prowling circle and fixed his eyes on the slender shape of the Pharaoh’s whore.

jawahir was not being so careful. it was of no concern if the man should hear them. they held the mazoi with the same disdain as everyone else that was not part of their kinz; all except ramesses, who had become as necessary as the sun.

they slunk closer and as the voice came, as the man turned, jawahir smiled in return. they appraised the man openly, eyes sparing no inch.

i prefer jawahir. they corrected easliy.

i am to run an errand for she of the red sands and ask you to join me, yes? deftly moving closer, almost to circle him, to duck around so that they were in the lead.

the light beckoned from elsewhere, beyond the catacombs.
you often seek the lady's first meal. perhaps we help one-another.

Jahwahheer, the Greek pronounced it awkwardly on purpose, his grin never faltered. When he mulled the name over on his tongue, he bounced his head pleasantly in agreement.

I am called Arsenio, and I am the personal guard to the lady queen Satsu. The auburn wolf continued to nod his head, well after he had finished speaking. The persistent bob of his large skull had become rhythmic, and he hoped that it would imply something of a simple nature to the sharp eyes of the Pharaoh’s toy. Jawahir seemed swift and capable. Arsenio did not want to test the wolf’s power.

We will go together, yes! Lead us, Jahwahheeer.

The misthofóros smiled easily. When he blinked, his eyes became glassy and faraway.

they did not appreciate the drawl of the man's voice, but paid it little attention. the fact that the man accepted this name rather than their title was fine enough, there was no need to fight over something so simple. it was too early for such things and jawahir had not slept well, if at all, and so they were more invested with getting their work done.

jawahir moved with care across the mesa. the sway of their hips did not seem as pronounced outside the view of the pharaoh, though an athleticism remained within the coyote's thin body. so often this one was called jewel or treated as a woman might be treated; yet as they moved across the warming rock, they took on a masculine swagger.

the lady asked for something from her personal collection, jawahir advised as they went. an ear turned to listen to the warrior move, and then a slight turn of their head indicated where they were going next: the grove in the distance. there are caches there of things crowfeather once used, but also meals stored for the fellahin. i will see if one is fresh there, and you may take it to her.

it was some distance off, still. they would roam together.

The Greek man allowed his mind to wander freely as they journeyed. He thought of Tamar, he thought of the Pharaoh, of the Roman soldier, and even of the dark boy they had all fretted over so needlessly. Akashingo was a place of many things, he had come to realize. Most of the goings on within the mesa pack were not to be enjoyed. There were a few moments of respite from the incessant pampering of Pharaoh Ramesses, though.

Again, he thought of Tamar.

It is good that the queen has such faithful followers. I think the Pharaoh cares for her a lot. He will want her to be taken care of.

Arsenio smiled lazily at Jawahir. He spoke slowly so that he seemed simple. The lizard-blink of his eyes was the only sign that he had not – like a golem – turned back to earthen material. If he spoke of pleasing the Pharaoh and his wife, the mercenary was certain he would not run the risk of being spied upon. The few moments of freedom he found were sacred to him and he would not have them invaded.

Do you like the Pharaoh, Jahwahheer?

jawahir did not trust many. they did not think it logical to put down their guard at any point, except for the pharaoh, and so as they sought the caches beneath the trees they were wary of the mazoi.
it was not anything overt. while he spoke, the coyote cut in to the clay and pushed aside the dry chunks of old grass that lay within the earthen pits, seeking treasures.

do you like the pharaoh, jahwahheer?
they are focused and silent until finally something uproots, and out of the burrow jawahir draws some old - admittedly useless - herbs which they toss aside.
looking up from their work and to the bronzed man, they are smiling, and there is something wild about their eyes.

he is the sun, and i am the field that basks beneath him.
chuckling softly to themselves, they do not stop there, although their words become less cryptic:
he is a good and just ruler, a capable lover, and divine of temperment. as they move to try another cache their voice shrinks slightly.
do you like him? they feel they know the answer.

Arsenio listened intently as the little desert creature moved about, digging and unearthing roots of various size and scent. Jawahir seemed to be one of the Pharaoh’s devoted, which made enough sense for the Greek to accept the other’s words at face value. Most of the Fellahin, he assumed, would be of a similar mindset and would worship the mesa’s ruler unquestioningly.

The question was reversed to the guard. Arsenio peered thoughtfully at Jawahir’s work; his tail swayed easily from side to side. The question was simple, but the redstone wolf knew that he would be required to be tactful with his response. If he was not careful, the Fellahin would flutter back to their Pharaoh and would whisper any number of things into the ruler’s ear.

The Pharaoh is like a stone falling into the ocean, fearsome and frightening, intense, and dangerous, he blathered for a moment. He has been good to me here. I have hope that I might bring my family to Akashingo because of him. Arsenio nodded his head many times, smiling dumbly.

Yes, I think I like him. Until he gives me reason not to, which he has not. Then, he laughed.

a snicker pulled its way between their teeth.

as the courtesan worked to dig free one thing and then another from the earth, the sound died away. large ears turned to listen to the boy speak of a family with little heart behind it; he might have thought himself a trickster among wolves, but jawahir could see through him well enough.

a family! all this time and you speak so little of them. but then, you do not allow the fellahin to entertain you either.

it helped to have spies among the fellahin; jawahir knew more than they let on, and in a glance, the glow of their eye might have said as much.

let him play his little game, thought the courtesan — it was a fun thing to watch and helped to enliven akashingo. this man was harmless, for the time being.

out of the earth came a circlet of thorns.

Jawahir was a spoiled creature. Arsenio had no taste for such things.

Still, the Greek man drew his head back and laughed a raucous noise. When he fixed his eyes on the slim little pleasure toy, he blinked slowly and tilted his head. The confusion on his features was genuine.

Jah-wah-heeer… we have only just talked, silly Fellahin. I have told others who I am closer to.

Then the mercenary tsked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. It was a chiding noise. Jawahir thought themselves to be clever, but they were just a dirty little sewer rat who had been groomed by a spoiled man. There was no pride, no honor, nothing worthy in such things. It was a shame, too. With all that deceptive talent, Jawahir might have been worth quite a bit in another land.

What would you like to know? I’m quite fond of them. He giggled, a rumbling noise.

they knew the fellahin well, as their progenitor, their collector. they knew that arsenio had not placed himself in to an intimate setting with them; it was a point of fact and some contention to the courtesan, who had thought their ilk well trained and alluring.
but, if he truly had a family and a pure heart, perhaps he could resist.
the jewel laughed softly as they collected their things, and turned to leave the pits.
i wonder what kind of woman would give you up. a beautiful mazoi like you; strong, hale, loyal. tucking away the circlet in to leaves, and then carrying this in their teeth, jawahir could speak no more.
they would listen to anything arsenio had to say, drawing them along to the mesa once more; this gift was best given in secret.

Jawahir was a snake in the grass.

Arsenio smiled, delighted to have found someone so fiendish. He wondered why the sharp little creature had opted to serve the Pharaoh. There was a wicked kind of cleverness in the Hebsut. The Greek did not meet many who were like that, and he could not recall one of them that he had enjoyed.

Ah, when times are hard, you do what you must to provide for those you love, Arsenio answered with a solemn bow of his head.

The redstone figure watched Jawahir with a curious gaze, tilting his head as they walked.

It was not long before they parted ways and Arsenio was left with his thoughts on the odd one called Jawahir.