---

Queen Merneith had given Mekh much to think about.

After he had been dismissed, the coywolf stalked the perimeter of Skyspear; not so much performing a patrol as he was chewing on his own thoughts. It was a good excuse to move, at any rate. He had spent so much of his life spoiled and lying languid at his Pharaoh's side, Mekh had all but forgotten how to make himself truly useful.

Perhaps it was the near-brush with death that had frightened him into action at last, feeling the chill of Ammit's hungry touch, certain that it was she who awaited him in the afterlife - for how light could the heart of a slave be, removed from his Pharaoh?

Mekh felt a tightness in his chest and he wondered if he had failed Merneith's generous offering of choice. Should he have chosen the path of the mazoi after all? Was it better to aim high and fall, or remain in the place he had always performed his duties best - as a fellahin, with no direction but to see each day through and perform his tasks without fault.

He knew it was pointless to fret, but fret he did.

The noonday sun hung weakly behind a heavy wall of clouds. He could not in good faith speculate, but Mekh couldn't help wondering what the sun-god was up to; was it he who passed judgment upon the world by withdrawing his light, or did Ra now engage in war, with this the result?

As he finished his first lap, the coywolf paused in his rounds as a dark figure approached. He immediately recognized the silhouette as that of Pharaoh; Mekh prostrated himself upon the ground with haste, uttering a reverent Khaemwaset! Ankh wedja seneb, as he waited for the divine one to pass.

---

---

Mekh was fully prepared to remain face-down in the sand until his Pharaoh had passed, but a single word of command from the wolf saw him swiftly at attention. He had acquainted himself with the Queen, who had been gentle with him; he did not know Khaemwaset, only seen him in passing, heard his name whispered reverently among his people. The coywolf followed at his beckoning, and despite his long, gangly legs, Mekh was still a good head shorter.

Muddied blood. Unclean. The word had followed him for a lifetime already. Half of one and half of another, but never whole.

Nevertheless he kept pace without faltering, without stumbling. He loped at an easy trot almost beside, but just slightly behind Pharaoh, and followed the man's gaze upward toward Skyspear.

It was impressive.

I am much improved, he said truthfully. It is with Setemhotep's skill that I recovered as quickly as I did. He is very talented - unlike any sesh I have met. You must be truly favored by the gods to have such a one as he.

Mekh hesitated, and felt that he was expected to say more.

The Queen met with me, and offered me branching paths through which I may repay Satriya's generosity, he said. That of the warrior, or the priest.

A cold wind rushed suddenly between them, and Mekh stiffened as he braced himself; he was not built for anything but hot sand and unrelenting sun, and he felt as if his bones might rattle within his own flesh if he wasn't careful about it. The unspoken question seemed to answer itself, and he smiled apologetically.

I think it is apparent which I am more readily suited for, he said. Despite the silly dreams of puphood.

---

---

The hair along his spine prickled being in such close proximity with Pharaoh. It wasn't unnerving, precisely, but just the knowledge of being so near someone as holy as he, the divine linked directly with the gods - with Seti it had been almost casual, and looking back, Mekh wondered if their friendship had been wrong in the eyes of their deities.

It is true, he affirmed Khaemwaset's proud statement. The coywolf had seen it with his own eyes; Satriya was truly as he said it was, and Mekh still wondered that he was allowed at all into their gilded embrace.

He watched with quiet respect as Pharaoh grazed his paw against the monument of their victory. Mekh had touched very much of the great pyramid up to this point; the tile, the gypsum-lime grout, the walls, even the odd artifact still left standing against the tides of time, scrubbing furiously with every appendage at his disposal to make them shine once more.

I - I suppose I have never had any aspirations, Mekh admitted. Beneath his former master's rule, there had been the option of working out a degree of freedom in that of a hunter-rank, but he had grown so fat, so comfortable in his position as Seti's confidante - slave, yes, but also something a little more - why bother?

In hindsight, he probably should have developed a skillset of some kind to fall back on. Mekh could never have anticipated where he was now.

The red dunes stretched infinitely before them.

I will not lie to you, he began, I come from a place similar to this; hot sands, stones piled as high as the sun. I was selfish. Bloated with my own pride, my greatest talent being that of a whisper-gatherer, and my days were spent serving and gifting secrets to my Pharaoh. There was little holiness in my work, and I saw no reason to change.

Golden eyes lifted, reflecting the red sheen from the warm sands surrounding them.

If I were to aspire to priesthood, it would be meticulous work for those who trained me, as if I were a child, he professed. If I were to walk the path of a warrior, the road would be long, and my bite will still never be as strong as that of - one who is pure.

This was surely not what Khaemwaset wished to hear, yet the truth must be said.

But I wish with all the light of Ra to be useful to you.

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