Two Eyes Cenote is that it? are you not allowed to talk?

he wanders through the lowlands, his sense of direction disoriented and left wondering as he traverses the strange desert-like lands at night when the air is cool and the stars map out his way.

even if he is uncertain where the stars are guiding him to; but that was half of the adventure, stark assures himself. it was an attempt to soothe the self-doubt that had seeded itself within his mind, making its home in his chest. a sinking, blackhole of a vortex that would devour him if he let it.

so, he pushes it aside. or, he tries to.

his steps slow as the scent of pack grows in strength, the scents of many coalescing into one of unity. he drinks in the scents with flared nostrils, finding none familiar ( but of course he wouldn't! ) and sweeps his pale green gaze for any sign of guardian come to greet him.

a hairsbreadth of a moment; a quick rapid-fire decision made.

he tips his head back and raises his voice in a short to-the-point howl, announcing his presence at their borders.

if nothing else, maybe he could get directions.

She steps through the cenote in swift, neat movements, hastily answering the summons.  Receiving visitors from off the low desert had become a routine affair, most requiring a few day’s provisions and rest before setting out again.

The evening air is cool on her nape as she passes through the threshold of the palace to meet the caller. He is a taller wolf with weight to him, these differences in their statures causing the coywolf’s stomach to twist sharply. But through the dusk she can see how his eyes are emerald and his face youthful, and with effort she drives the unease from her mind.

“Welcome to the palace of Muat-riya, reign of Pharaoh Muat-riya Isetnofret, Goddess of the red serpent,” she greets, arching herself into a courteous bow. "How may I help you?"

the woman that greets him is waif-ish, draped in a pelage of dark chocolate and caramel browns. there is a palpable air of importance about her that stark can see, even as she launches into a verbose greeting that does not paint her as the pharaoh she mentions.

stark offers her a slow blink, confused by the courteous bow she offers him.

i — for the first time since he started to learn how to speak he is speechless.

wow, that was a lot of words. determined to regain his proverbial footing again, he feels the uncomfortable urge to fill the silences: never one to sit in them. uh hi, he dips his head in turn, a little awkwardly unsure how he was meant to react.

in the first minute of this encounter, this has not been like any border interception he's been in before. i'm stark, he introduces himself and shifts his weight. i was hoping for some directions — to where? he didn't know. nanoq had warned him he was going to the wilds to chase ghosts, that none of the apaata's remained. but it wasn't just about finding lost family. it was carving out a niche for himself that wasn't leftovers from one of his siblings.

a place to see what he could do when he took the training wheels off and had room to tinker. to explore. to grow.

or maybe a place to stay. i mean, definitely a place to stay — sharp canines bite into his tongue; stilling it from the rapid-fire default of his words. do you have a name? or should i call you walking thesaurus? he is teasing, tone light and grin boyish as it tugs haplessly at his lips.

stark, always the reckless, prodigal son. the one that lacked captain and sedna's prim and proper filter. never thinking before he spoke, and bypassing the reading of the room.

he does not know her, nor her him. but bold has always been his nature, for better or worse. and his quips have been known to get him in trouble many times: and he bore the scar for it beneath his left eye.

She rises and looks across the sand towards the man, her face maintaining its quiet seriousness. The first sensation is an offense that trickles up into her throat on behalf of Pharaoh- Toula who is deserving of all the accolades bestowed! But he fixes her in earnest and his smile is easy; he seems innocuous enough. She blinks and begins to relax.

“Eset,” one brow flares into a curve, “I trust you can manage that?” Her voice challenges but at the corner of her mouth is a small, furtive smile.

“You are welcome to stay in Muat-riya. I will escort you through the palace,” the hebsut offers with a wave of paw in invitation for him to follow.

“What is your name?” She asks while they walk.

if she took offense to his nickname, she did well to hide it. to stark's surprise, she rises to meet his quip with a challenge in her tone, laced with her words that has a small thrill slithering along the curve of his spine. i can probably manage that — he murmurs; subdued.

eset. he tests it out, letting the syllables lift and roll off his tongue.

stark. my name is stark. he reminds her; telling himself that his first introduction had gotten lost in the chaotic storm of words and possible, almost offenses he committed.

he hesitates for only a second before following after her, gaze sweeping across the palace walls, like an archaeologist discovering a lost queen's tomb; mirroring the same awe.

so, muat-riya, stark begins. what's it like? what are the expectations set for me?

She appreciates the way Stark admires the palace, the way he is silent and attentive when she points out the different rooms and their uses. They pass through the vast nave filled with its cooling pools and glittering gemstone walls of lapis and quartz. She skims over their work of art, a measure of pride welling within her chest. It was elegant and radiant, and still her eyes found that there was much yet to be done.

“All of this is a monument to our Pharaoh, Toula,” Eset explains, “she lives in the high desert with her Consort and summers here in the pleasure palace. Many of us travel back and forth between the two regularly, so I’m certain you will meet her soon.”

“It is expected that you respect our Gods, even if you do not choose to worship them. Everyone contributes to the operations of the palace, so you will be required to take a rank here.” She leads him towards the rim of one twin cenote, its surface reflecting the moonlight like glass. There she turns to regard him again.

“Do you have any particular strengths, Stark?” Of course, she could see he was athletic. His hide bore the marks of former altercations, the telling brand of a warrior. But it did not necessarily deem him a soldier. He was given a choice here, as Toula gave to her.

the pharaoh's name was toula, he comes to learn, and that she summers here. while it's a bit of a strange concept, he had heard of packs branching off before. in a way, this sounds like something like that except with a central leader whose word was law over both packs.

i can navigate the night by the stars, though a skill, he wasn't sure how much use it would be to the pharaoh. and i can fight.

The stars. In the brevity of a breath, she remembers Melody.

“Perhaps joining the priesthood would interest you. Our own hemet, Nazli, is a student of the goddess of cosmos, Nwt.” Her eyes trail from the composure of Stark’s face out toward the rippling piscinas. The corridors are peacefully quiet and light from sconced starlight shimmers against the blue walls.

“We are in need of soldiers and hunters," Eset admits next. "Muat-riya grows, we've had four hungry pups born to our halls this year-  and I expect there will be more to come.”

priesthood. him?

though the idea of a goddess of the cosmos was absolutely intriguing to him, stark isn't so sure he is cut of the same cloth that made priests. for one, he was hardly pious. and, and, and —

i wouldn't mind learning about this goddess of the cosmos and will definitely be seeking this nazli out to do so, his admission begins. ...my nature is more suited to the role of soldier. and stark sees no use in trying to hide who he was. though he could be scholarly, certainly, he had been molded into a fighter: by his father, by his mother, by the constant, ceaseless fights with his siblings.

His chosen role was made clear in the assurance of his voice.

“Fight for us,” Eset says, stepping forward, “serve our Pharaoh. Defend our home as mazoi; warrior of the blue palace.”

Us. Let him feel that the ownership of such a place was held in the palm of every palatial resident, no matter their rank.

“You will work alongside Khusobek. There are two more guardians who patrol Pharaoh’s residence in the North. In time you will meet them. I am the hebsut,” she explains, “I oversee the operations here. If you have any questions, come to me.”

For now Eset would show Stark to his room within Muat-riya’s gleaming barracks, outfitted with all the furs, wines, and finery afforded by the region’s ruler.

she bestows upon him a title of mazoi; a warrior. a protector of this mysterious pharaoh eset continues mentioning. his pharaoh, now, he supposes; this ownership confirmed when she uses the term 'us', placing weight upon it.

to drive it home to him.

though stark thinks that he sticks out a bit like a sore thumb here, he wonders if assimilating would be easy for him. or if he would always be ostentatiously visible as someone who didn't entirely belong.

time would tell.

he offers a small noise of affirmation, that he understood before he focuses on picking out landmarks to help him find his way as he follows her.

She prepares a cape hare and wine for his dinner while the new mazoi is offered a look about his chamber. It is fairly sized, and though nothing elaborate, there is a small cavity in the limestone where moonlight pours in.

“Please, take the evening to rest, my lord,” she passes Stark a drink and retreats to the arched stone entryway.

“Is there anything else I may bring to add to the comfort of your room?”

stark tries to keep his jaw off the floor, take in the rich qualities of the furs and sniffs, at first a bit suspiciously at the wine she offered; trying not to flinch at her calling him my lord, trying not to insist that she did not need to prepare his dinner for him. it all felt far too formal, far too heavy for something for him to bear upon his shoulders.

stranger still, for he took her to be a leader here even if she was not the pharaoh.

but he stills his tongue in the effort not to unintentionally insult. this was to be his home, this culture was to be his, his people.

he cast a glimpse 'round hard to find it lacking for anything. he'd have been happy with a roof over his head and a floor to sleep upon. this opulence leaves a heavy, perfumed taste on his tongue — or perhaps that was the wine he'd taken a drink of.

no, murmurs stark. this is nicer than anything i've ever had before. he says with a small, incredulous laugh, as if he couldn't quite believe it was true. thank you, eset. he adds and then hesitates, wondering if he was meant to call her by her name or something more formal. was — is it ok to call you by your name? or do you prefer my lady or your title hebsut?