Lion Head Mesa And which is to remain unknowable and unremembered

maggie still had not stirred. ramesses had long since given up hope that she would. his day to day thought did not now always entertain the poor scrap of white fur lying maimed and silent upon what would be her deathbed.
and still he visited from time to time, dampened and fragrant from his baths. it was one such hour. pharaoh leaned over the woman and smelled the sickly sweet creeping of her rotting, half-stitched wounds.
outside the entrance was a flicker of black fur. thinking only that it was dutiful crowfeather, ramesses raised his head. "enter, physician." a command, as most of his speakings were these days.