Lion Head Mesa sunlight sadness

Through his half-sleep came a voice that sounded as sharp and fluid as a summer breeze, but with more weight, as if a storm were gathering at the door. The man who spoke his name held an innate confidence; as if he was deciding for himself if he was only passing by - cloud-like - or gathering thunder for a future strike.

Raimo lifts his head; it isn't pained any longer by heat-stroke. The muscles in his neck are still a bit weak and so there is a slight sway to the look. Well. It should not be much longer.

But what would come next? I owe your people a debt. Yes; who else could this gilded man be, but this pharaoh mentioned to him?