Lion Head Mesa infidel

set during senmut + mesen-ka's visit to the lake.

When he descended the steppes it was to chase the pronghorn lingering just out of reach. Soon the arid terrain became flat red land, and he could spy red stone jutting from it.

Reminded of the coyote-home he had visited before, Drusk was intrigued. He wondered what he might find here, his belly rumbling.

As he crossed beneath the red arches he found scents in the dirt (mostly fresh, mostly wolf) and decided to roll there, to gather it to himself and wear it.

He carried on, finding deep shadows to hide himself in, but the sun moved quickly as if it were a giant eye watching his transgression of the sands.

zaahira had been on her normal patrol route when she noticed it.
the classic stench of interloper, something foreign and dirty. she'd been told what to look for after the defilement of the sister palace, and had she seen him, his head would be on a stick by now. peace never lasts in akashingo.
a call is sent up for @Legend and, if he were within range, @Khusobek — her only two soldiers, but she hopes they will be enough. she is not shy in the announcement of her presence. if the intruder dared to come closer, he would be met with teeth, and blood would spill upon the red sands; but not that of her own.

the scents here were strong, and more wolf than anything. for this reason drusk was more attentive to where he walked and how he moved through those shadows. he did not get far before the sun spotlit him; he blinks where he stands, backing in to the darkwell cast along the rock face.

there is a call; as surprised as the wolf was to be noticed so swiftly, he did not see any eyes watching him or feel discovered yet. he began to slink from shadow to shadow with his tall figure stooped, and found another array of shadows expansive enough to keep him cool, if not hidden.

the stonework was a maze. the farther he went the more disoriented drusk felt, as the red dirt absorbed his steps and the mesa itself seemed to swallow up his path.

Legend had spent most of the evening upon the slope. Where she had seen Nazli's caretakers rest upon, and where it was easier to watch wolves come and go. An array of figures each time; many dark, many red, many brown, and many blonde. Tiny little figures, big little figures, and all of which got added to a game of guessing for her. Rolling roughly along the ground, dust erupted into the wind and clung to her coat. A bath of it drenching her in random spurts throughout the day.

A call was what lifted her tired, bored head! Bored! Very, very bored! There was urgency in it, and whether or not she cared about the urge of it or just the want for fun was not known. How could it be? Sneaking up behind the Jodai, whines of greeting and acknowledgment pushed from her throat. A familiar scent tickled her nose as she beat her tail behind Zaahira. Submissive, meek, but soon the mazois snout was upon the ground with twitching nostrils. She could smell something, but it appeared she was struggling to catch a trail, though very quickly trying.

"do you want your hide chewed, boy?" like the others, he knew that a traveler had been in the palace. 

and it had been such a long time since he was loosed.

nodding to zaahira, khusobek found the faint dirtied trail of the cur, but would move off in step with legend, smoothly marching after the fool and his goals.

@Rashepses is probably with her!

 

the days changed, and so too did her moods. accepting of Racharra’s leave one day, in misery the next—she was temperamental as never before, her feelings bigger in a way that words, which she could always rely on, could not convey. it seemed with each day she grew warmer, but not yet in a pleasant way. it was a way that then brought her discomfort; she was unused to it. 
Toula sought Zaahira, to see if perhaps she had done wrong. she trusted her Jodai with the truth, and she knew her own husband would not wish to wound her with it. that her youth had perhaps made her be naive, that she had been foolish,
her eyes were a lashing whip that landed on the creature that moved to invade! she heard the call of her Jodai. and she was Pharaoh—this would not be ignored by her! it was Sekhmet’s teeth that she bore as she strode after them all, commanding that they seize him, protect Akashingo, at all costs! and bring him to me! drag him if you must!
he would answer for this. her rage frightened her, blinded her—Toula was not herself, and paused to suck down a cooling breath. 
but she could not understand how Racharra could—no, no, this man, she could not understand his lack of wisdom, his lack of foresight, that he would move as he did!

not a moment's hesitation found the jodai.
she is composed as one could be when faced with such direct danger. as she paces the halls, she sees it in the distance; the swelling and fading of shadow, the morph that disappeared into the dark of the passageways. a growl lurches from her throat, resolute and flickering with a vicious, wild flame. do not let him get away.
legend is to search east. khusobek to the west. zaahira herself was to guard the pharaoh, and immediately she is to her gilded side at the sound of the call. her own flesh was to act as the shield.

unaware of the mobilization of so many, and likely uncaring even if he had noticed, drusk would carry on his exploration.

the large initial archway fell away behind him. he prowled until he found himself at one dead end or another, and would double back, or scramble up from the shadows and seek another route.

little by little he made his way through the outer limits, until a new choice was set before him: to follow the path that led to obvious shadows, which smelled of meat and water—or stay above where there was too much sun, and seek the farther shelter (the overground hemet quarters and farther, the barracks).

he moved to skirt the shadows until he came to an opening, and ducked inside while leaving an obvious trail in the dirt; something he had not accounted for.

the space was large, and dark. it took time for his eye to adjust. he saw furs lining along one wall, shelves of components, red reeds in a dry pile, and otherwise nothing of note. as the boy moved to leave again, he stopped short and watched some figures crossing the courtyard beyond, and realized he was being followed.

let me know if any changes are needed<3 Sorry for the wait

Khusobek put his nose down upon a scent, and once the man was truly moving, Legend was off. Pharaoh commanded, of who by day she displayed more loyalty to, and to the King Consort, who had asserted himself until she understood.

It took time, but she knew this scent. And this was the whore who had escaped them once. Not to be twice, and Pharaoh Toula had been clear.

But Legend was not built for this. A skid into one of the entries at the site of fleeing paws, the imp lunged down into the pit with snapping, wild jaws and warning barks. Ones that did not land, but with Khusobek at her side, she would work with him to fish the prey out. But she was timid, and she was bluffing. Trying to hold him in place so Zaahira could do what she could not physically do. 

she pursued, slower than the rest—but Toula need not make haste, not as she witnessed her people answer her call. over the turmoil that chilled her came suddenly the warm wash of pride, and Toula moved after them step by step. she was slow to follow, measured, as she considered what might come next, once he was caught. 
the soft click of the nails upon her well-manicured paws that revealed her approach next to the savage snarls of the guardsmen were a strange juxtaposition of sound. but she listened only for the intruder, not yet having arrived to where it was he was then-cornered.

the far off sound of feral barks and yowls was pleasing to the ears of the jodai. the sunfire eyes flare.
she parts from toula in order to catch up, now that the interloper is cornered. she is slow, wishing to savor it; the sun beats down upon her slender back, a looming crimson shadow cutting the ground sharply below her.
come out, pig, she calls, her voice a deep crackle of stormy contralto. you have nowhere left to run. show yourself now, and you may possibly still have children one day.

He could not stand there watching for long; there was a sharp-bodied mutt crossing the courtyard to the hemet quarters, and before Drusk could find a new place to go, he was set upon.

The wild face of something not quite wolf, not quite coyote, scythed through the doorway and forced Drusk back, lest he be caught by teeth; everything in this place reeked of the dogs. It was a momentary hesitation as self-preservation flared within him. He saw too the reluctance of the attacker as their snaps did not seek his flesh or catch even in his fur; maybe a bluff, maybe insufficient practice, but he was driven backwards among the collected paraphernalia.

The voice commanding from outside held authority and was impossible not to hear. However, Drusk did not know he was being ordered outside, only that there were teeth before him and potential harm out there in the light.

The boy was rumbling a warning, pacing in the confinement of the room; his heel catching a sleeping-fur, his shoulder brushing a collection of something precious on a shelf which would fall and break, but his eyes were on the doorway and the body standing in his way.

Ejervalat shafka. His words carried the rumble in his chest until it broke like the snapping of stormy air, and became a snarl; it was his only warning to get those teeth back and away, and then he lunged for Legend.

If she moved out of the way in time he would emerge in to the light with spittle flying from his lips; scowling, squinting. Otherwise, he would aim his considerable strength and all of his own inherent desperation (as any cornered animal would) at her face, her neck, her anything, to grab and throw in to the wall, as he sought space for himself.

However it would pan out — one way or another he would be free of this room and standing before the awaiting Zaahira, in a stare-down.