Lion Head Mesa Nefrew

Maybe @Neith ? *pleading puppy eyes*

 

The sunlight had illuminated his cape in gold. 

And Den stretched his large paws out in front of him, relishing in the touch of warmth against his back. The hairs along his neck prickled from the heat that he basked in. The comfort of family was nearby. Even when there was no one to give him affection, he had found the attention of the sun in his pelt. That warmth on his skin was just like the kisses his mother bestowed on him. Kisses from Ra.

<3!!

Love was a word lavished about in their home. Momma loves you. Dada loves you. Brother and sister love you.

So fiercely the girl loved each of them in turn, within every embrace finding the nicest, warmest feelings of security and eternal endearment.

But from the moment her infantile eyes had opened upon Den, the attachment with him was markedly different;  a devotion that seldom took her from his side, happiest she was in his nearness. Little Neith made it her post to see her brother was rarely left wanting in affection, adapting thoroughly to the role of annoying little sister.

In the light he shown as molten gold, filling their family’s room with his beauty; a living God. His sister takes careful steps towards his warmth, her tiny chest rising and falling with the softest coos.

There she was. 

Den's eyes fixed to her features with sharp interest. The mere proximity of his beautiful sister was enough to stir rapid thrumming heartbeats from his small chest. It was as though her presence brought life to his body. Like the closeness of her gold-touched coat was an ember in his soul... and the closer that she drew, the more it grew in size and intensity. 

The young prince flopped himself to his side and gazed up at Neith. His arms spread for her. It was a silent request for his sister. Let me hold you. Let me drink in the familiar fragrance of your coat. Let me nourish you with the warmth of me.

Always Den gave comfort when nothing else could. Always he was there when she needed him to do and communicate the right things. Eagerly the princess accepts his invitation to cuddle, hungry for his affection, for his approval.

Rapidly her tail shakes them both as she nestles into her place at his side, alabaster melding with her brother’s luminous flaxen. She puts a kiss upon his brow and cranes her neck to peer into the lapis eyes to see that he is paying her full attention.

"De," her tiny voice croons for him.

The warmth of her body found the space he had created for her. Den's earthen arms wrapped around his sister's frame and tugged her against his chest. Close enough that he was overwhelmed with her. The scent of her wafted through his dark nose and he pressed tentative little nudges to the whiskers on her snout. The boy was young. Still, there was a strange possessiveness in his actions toward her... and only her. 

N'th... his small voice sounded. 

Den was enthralled with her and the attention she gave to him. The boy's gold-tipped tail thumped against the ground. The gleam of his eyes fixed only to her face. No matter how familiar she was, he never grew bored. The love that poured from the warmth of her eyes was the closest thing to divinity he had ever known.

No other looked upon her the way he did.

She was rapt. A girl young, naive, blind to the culture and dictations that were already set in motion to define the seasons of her lifetime, the princess knew only that when Den called for her, she was pulled to answer.

His rays encompass her. Here was a place nothing else could touch her, where their blood beat in absolute unison, and within her tiny mind was a deep and primordial understanding that to behold Den was to behold her God.

She smiles; her mother’s smile. Momma, who she considered a model by which to mold her life, and grazes his wet nose with her own, giggling at the ticklish sensation when their whiskers brushed.

Neith was his. Den had decided it in this moment. There would be no one else who could look at her the way he did. There would be no one else to receive the warmth of her gaze. It was his. And his arms wrapped around her most possessively as the wet of her dark nose found his and the breath of her tickled at his whiskers when she laughed. 

Den puffed a gust of air from his snout, watching the way the hairs on her tender little face would dance from the force of it. His snout crinkled slightly. The prince's dark lips curled into a loving smile.

She was his.

Inexorably, she felt it. Even when her mind could not much form thoughts beyond this pure intimacy. Her earth was bright with him. Den dispelled darkness, awakening inside her something like a match poised to strike.

The Gods in their omniscience knew this was power. But the girl child did not. Her writhing is playfully and giddy, showing her porcelain teeth to her lion brother, arms finding their way around his neck. Charmed, protected; loved.

Neith believed he was her lion brother. Perhaps she was too adoring of him to see that he was not a lion at all. 

Den was of Sobek. He was order in chaos. He was the cunning crocodile who waited beneath the surface of the water for his opportunity. Patient and watchful. He learned. There was no lion in him. There was another sharp-toothed predator that had breathed life into his young body. 

As Neith wriggled, illuminated with golden sunlight that made her pale coat glitter, Den gripped her tighter in his arms and nibbled at the underside of her throat with rumbling growls from his throat. Kisses were interspersed in his teasing nips.

Their toddlerhood is the work of mere weeks.

Den is at once privy to princedom and the regency of his blood; the patience required to lay in wait for a moment’s opening. In time, she may come to see how well he can conceal himself, how his premeditated words and acts are never wasted. How his jaws strike, ruinously and reptilian.

Gloating in coltish nips and puppy growls, the gilded sister is blithely unaware of her brother’s truest identity. She tips her cheek to invite his affections, so potent that islands of sunlight warm where his kisses fall upon her throat.

Inside Den was bred a soul indoctrinated to command, a sensation felt and not yet understood by the amiirad as she bestows her own feathery licks, a nibble to his chin.

But just now, she pictures a corona of an imperial color, and wonders if anyone passing can see it too– the bloom breathed out around them, as if they are a pair of twin acacia trees whose boughs were soon to flower.

Gold-kissed and blooming, Den and Neith became bound to each other. Their small world consisted of great love and pride. Rashepses and Toula had birthed four lives from it. And while the young prince was aware of his brother and his other sister and the warmth of his mother's coat, none of it could compare to her. 

Neith was an embodiment of the sun. The way her coat glimmered was almost bewitching. Den held the sun against his chest and he could feel her warmth through every inch of his body. There was a gentle prick of her teeth against his chin and he lashed his tongue across her snout, brushing against the prickly whiskers and up to her wet nares. 

Den pressed his snout against hers. His arms hugged her firm to his chest. 

N'th.

Treasured, tenderly supported within the growing strength of his boyish paws, Den intuits her every want for affection. She is heard without ever once speaking.

Slowly, their noses graze and the girl squeals again, chiming with delight and burrowing deeper into the earthen fold of brother's arms. Arranging herself comfortably against him, soon the blush of her cheek is propped up on the prince’s shoulder, lids falling blissfully in the cloudless afternoon he creates for her.

Neith is spoken like a prayer, she opens her eyes to nuzzle the twin face that looms above her’s.

It was Den who would protect her from hurt. Den who would chase her every shadow away.

And as she drifts to slumber, he is on her lips still.

Den, Den, Den…

Her song of songs.

The sun grew heavy. 

Den watched with fierce intensity as his beautiful sister drifted... slipping behind closed eyes and soft breathing. The grip of his arms on her had softened. But still, he held her to his chest so that she would know his presence even in dreams. That he would be her constant flowing river. He would cut through earth and stone to fill a sea of love for his sun. 

One last kiss was drawn at the bridge of her nose. The wet of his snout pressed to the short hairs between her eyes and Den drank in the scent of her. His Neith.