Lion Head Mesa Tjaw

The prince basked in the warmth of the sun and the feeling of the wind as it carried across the mesa. The weather had shifted. Nights were colder and the sun was often hidden behind a curtain of clouds. The young wolf could feel the change on the air, too. Those winds carried whispers of something like ice. The first change of season that Den would experience. From summer to autumn, the earth would grow cold. 

A sharp-toothed yawn sounded from the boy. He lifted his eyes to follow the path of three dark-winged birds as they cut across the sky.

charmion carried the scents of honey and herbs. his work had begun long before songs were sent to Ra's ears. he had found himself in between prepping meals and clean living spaces. a man who walked between one part of the palace to another.

another young royal spotted.

charmion carried cleansed furs, it would be these that he approached with. his voice wanted to escape him but it felt like a lump in his throat.

all he offered was a deep bow for now.

"bring my brother a senet board and pieces, fellahin," khaemwaset ordered of the servant, though his eyes did not leave den. "he is bored."

his brother. firstborn, praised by high priest and mother and father, adorned not only in song but imbued with a weight that none of them might ever carry. he had come up from the wellspring; he carried one of the feathers he had shown neith, tucked into the polished fur of one shoulder.

now he stood beside den, watching the last images of those flying birds.