Lion Head Mesa the wheat from the chaff ☥

heartbroken, unsure, khaemwaset withdrew into himself.

a flurry of bowing servants followed the boy as he strode out of the mesa; he batted away their coddling and demanded that senmut accompany him to the riverside. "i will give thanks to the flood," the prince declared, hiding as well as he could the fact that only scant hours before, tears had stood angrily in his eyes.

khaemwaset could not bring himself to be angry with beloved merneith, and so he turned his rage toward the gods.

beside the river, amiir plucked petals and threw them into the water. "hail to thee, O Serpent, who manifests thyself over this land, and comes to give life to akashingo."

despite the quiet urging of the high priest, the prince's words did not hold joy.

"mysterious is thy issuing forth from the darkness," khaemwaset mumbled, throwing another blossom into the cold waves, "on the day whereon it is celebrated."

he thought of her eyes; in his mind, he heard her run from him.

"watering the trees created by Ra, to cause all life to live, you give the earth to drink, untiring one," he finished with no fanfare, flying into rage and strewing petals at the edge of the river until his sides heaved.

but it was the eye's of Merneith's own that watched it all now. the priest and the prince. charmion had helped gather the supplies for all of this. after all, he knew he must witness these things closely now.

it all ended in a flurry befitting a war-prayer more than a flood blessing. he gave no reaction to it all. a stone servant who stayed steadfast as witness and puppet both.

he prostrated himself in a way that was both worshipful and sacrifice both. if there was still raging energy to spare but no petals left, let him be the flesh to carry the burden. if there was need for more services in the wake of such fury, let him be the body to attend it.

he offered his presence as devotion to Akashingo — as devotion to Amiirad.

charmion.

bowing, obeisant pet to neith; khaemwaset relied upon his service and resented it all at once, perceiving this man closer to his much-loved sister than he had been allowed in days.

minute wisdom stayed teeth and blows that wanted to descend upon bowed head, scapegoating the servant, but prince found rein. "how is my royal sister?" the boy inquired in a cold voice, eyes turned across the face of the serpent.

the boy was a winter's breeze across usually hot lands. charmion did not like the way this discomforted his innards and yet knew it to be a royal's right.

healthy and well-tended to, Amiir. he still held himself low. he could have asked if there was anything specific the Divine Child wished to know, but feared he might be pressed for private matters.

how may i be of further service to you, Divine One?

it opened him up to demands, but it opened them up to topics not so specific.

for a moment, princeling resented servant so fiercely a headache overtook him. he wanted to threaten charmion, to wound him, to drive him out. all for the sin of being close to neith while he was locked outside the doors of her regard.

it hurt.

he hurt. "in my rooms is a new sheepskin of pure white." his voice held only the slightest tremble. "take it to her as a wintertime gift from me."

he did not dismiss charmion; khaemwaset left the fellahin alone at once to seek his own solitude.

sheepskin of white. winter time gifts.

love was what he saw and he did not wish to be a divide between them. he had no desire to create strife within the palace when the world beyond it was already wrought with it.

yes, Divine One, a worshipful whisper against the cool earth.

@Neith would receive the pure white sheepskin as her winter gift, would be told of the wonderful thanks to the flood her royal brother had given. charmion would not utter a single thing about how his heart had hammered so hard beneath a gaze so young and yet feeling immortal in equal turns.