Two Eyes Cenote regalo

he’s back for the girl. she’d occupied a little room in the back of his mind since he’d first laid eyes upon her; quiet yet slowly spreading out until she’d made permanent lodge in his forethought. 

as he nursed his wounds, he tenderly collected small things for her. 

a pretty stone found in the river. small frogs wrapped in lily pads,. a long stem of vibrant goldenrod. ground spices nestled in a turtle shell. a pearly white lily, so broad and pearlescent it took his breath away as he gazed upon its pink tinged lobes.  

he stored this all in a wrap of fawnsilk. he does not call for @Safiya as he comes close. he’ll wait until he sees her alone. 

he settles just outside the kingdom’s heavily trod footpath. a large oak casts its shadow over the road. soto sits at its base, savoring his sore hip as he sits on a carpet of moss. 

he aches, but he’s patient. he knows one thing — and that is young girls are industrious. he’ll see her soon, one way or another.

ooh fun he intrigues me

Eyes of sea glass trace the high precipice and salt areas she called home. A small sense of dissatisfaction as she walked. She was still considered Fellahin. How could she become Mazoi like she wanted. Beastie was set free, but she hadn't seen him yet.

She picked her way to the borders. A little ghost to the Mazoi. They tolerated her presence. Some giving her advice or just a small hello when not busy.

She saw a sight just beyond. A blur of something. She tilted an ear forward and pressed the red of her body forward eyeing the man who had been there before. She only saw his shape before she moved closer.

As she did so the tang of blood in the air, dirt and dust.

She moved closer still stopping to stare at him fearless as she always was.

You're hurt. was her generalized statement.

<333

chamaca, he rises to his feet as her form greets him. soto doesn’t know what she’s said, but her seaglass eyes apprise him in a way that conveys concern. the color reminds him of the impossible blue-green of his homeland; a thought that pierces his heart with longing. 

he shakes his head; no, no. he’s fine — and points to the peltskin. for a reserved man, his head is fuzzy with excitement. por ti, he says again, pushing the bundle towards her. para la bonita chamaca.

The first word he greeted her with was not one he had used before. So she questioned Chamaca mean? 

A thirst for the language that he spoke. it rose on cadences and lyrical. It sounded like the rivers that rushed nearby and yet it was so jumbled ot her it was hard to understand. 

Por Ti. She canted her head to the side. He had said that before so did that mean another gift for pharoah. For who?

Bonita she knew that one. that was a word even regular common language speakers used. A word that meant pretty, but what was pretty?

She touched the peltskin with a questioning look, the red of her paw against the brown of the skin. Bonita?

he knows so little of this world’s tongue that his pleading eyes scan her face for context.

she reaches for the skin, and he begins to nod vigorously. he motions towards her person, pointed claws facing her chest.

chamaca — he points to her again, ignoring the protest of his hips as he balances on three limbs. 

the svelte outline of her paw upon the peltskin causes his heart to hammer. he nudges the peltskin, every gesture an exaggeration due to the language chasm between them. ábrela, he urges.

He stares. She doesn't understand. She's trying but his language is so different than her own. Not even the same as her parents or the others in the palace. 

She furrowed her brow. So chamaca meant her? Did it mean her personally or was it another name for coyote or girl? Frustration seeped into her core. And a sort of quiet sadness that she couldn't understand.

A nudge to the pelt skin and it flopped. She studied it again, moving her nose down to sniff. It seemed it was to be opened. So paws built a little more delicate than she liked. She flipped it over and gave a small sound of delight and surprise. Eyes taking in all he had hidden in the skin.

a long shadow fell across safiya and the skin. proudling steps carried the weightboned mazoi in a fierce stalk just as his daughter took the bundle.

that safiya was here did not both him overmuch; it was the fact that in this moment she was very much a child with a gift, and its giver unknown to him.

the shoals of ice turned on the stranger. "you are far too close."

something flits across her face sparrowlike and small. for a moment he quails, his hopeful energy grinding to a stop. 

but she gasps and the ring of her small voice pronounces joy. soto stills, eyes apprehensive as he waits for her to unpack it all. 

would she like the frogs, and know they were prized in his homeland for their fat?

would she find the lily flower pretty, as he did when he first watched it unfurl over the banks of the luneshale river?

the moonstone; would she hold it in her hands and see a fragment of the moon reflected back?

he stood at her feet, drinking in each emotion that crosses her russet features.

prowling steps draw soto from his studying of the girl’s youth-rounded face. a pair of hard eyes cut into him. 

he steps back as the fur along his spine unwillingly rifles. he’s not sure what the man had said, but the tone needed no translator. it says you are unwelcome and the eyes, they say what the mouth does not — a killer’s eyes framed in dark chestnut. 

soto’s excitement disintegrates in smoky wisps. he swallows, looking briefly at the girl (if only to hold the vision of how her seaglass eyes illuminate in elation!) before he steps back. 

the man’s presence sours the interaction. the girl seemed excited to see him, indicating someone known - which puts soto in danger.  a slew of words he doesn’t know - some mixed with his own - follow. soto remains silent, rooted to the spot where khusobek’s glacial eyes first pried into him. 

he dips his head, taking another ginger step back. adios, chamaca. soto says, turning to hold khusobek in his gaze before he moves back onto the trail leading from muat riya.

They were no longer alone. She felt her father's presence more than saw him. And she turned to look up and up.

Baba! This is Soto. He brought gift for Pharoah Toula last time.  Legend took it. This one is for me. Aren't they Jamil.

She looked back to the other man with a small smile a ran a soft paw over the flower. Furrowing in remembrance. You say Bonita yes?

She ran a paw across the stone marveling at its softened rounded edges. Frogs she had tasted before and found them flavorful but small.

they knew one another. he had been here before. he had spoken to safiya a first time.

"jamil, my sweet," he agreed, ears flicking. he did not recognize the name nor its sound, nor the words the stranger spoke.

the way in which he oozed out, back into the sand; khusobek did not like it. 

he turned toward safiya. "what did he say to you?" legend's presence in the first visit subdued him, albeit only a little. to bring gifts for pharaoh was expected. to offer a personal grant to a girl, a child; it rankled the crocodile.

Safiya gave her father a reproachful look. The man had done nothing wrong. He had brought gifts. She thought briefly how to react. Toye would throw a hissy fit and get what she wanted, but Safiya was not that way. She gave a soft sigh.

I don't know. He doesn't speak very good common. He said para ti which I think means for you or here cause he said that before. And he calls me Chamaca but I don't know that either.

She stared at the gifts and then looked up at her dad. Do I get to keep them?

Her voice was unsure.

<3 last from me!!

an ear turns back behind him as voices trickle from the woods. he’s not sure what they say - the soft murmur of safiya’s words mix with that of the older male. 

suitor? guardian? father? soto asks himself these questions as he picks his way between blades of ferns. 

he will not be back that night. no matter where he limps, he feels the hard press of glacial blue eyes burned upon him.

he wanted to forbid them, and almost did. "you may keep them, safiya," khusobek muttered more brusquely than he meant.

"look at me. never take personal gifts at the border again. you will be mazoi, which means you will represent muat-riya and those you guard. be polite. do not show yourself as gullible."

gesturing for her to fall into step, the crocodile carefully lifted the bundle and strode out across the sands.

Her ears hit her head and she bowed her head. Tucking her tail  neatly against her hocks. Her father hardly ever reprimanded. A spark of unfairness licked along her insides. Would he have forbid Tiye? She would have thrown a fit or not even have asked. At least she had asked. 

Safiya moved into step beside and behind her father. And trailed behind him. There was a flame in her chest now. She felt as if she was wronged and she couldn't verbalize why. What was the harm? There were gifts brought all the time? Was she not allowed anything? Not as Mazoi not as fellahin? Did she only belong to the palace.