At the word abominations, his prey let out a squeak that sounded rather indignant, and started squirming again.

I almost think it understands. Hotep blinked.

Another squeak, and... a nod?

Mice were born of silt and River vapors — beings of powerful creation which, unchecked, spread vile pestilence in great number. They stole consecrations from temples, and grain from stores. But their creative prowess could be channeled for good or for healing when consumed.

The best course, then... was to eat it. Or prepare it for others to eat.

What would he do? Sitamun's question hung in the air, heavy as the humid fog that so often covered this strange land.

Hotep sighed, It has done no harm. So far. Perhaps my curiosity gets the better of me, but...

He lifted a paw, and the beast ran free.

It could easily have vanished into the dark. Instead it retreated only a short distance before turning to face them again, considerate. Then came creeping back, slowly, to a handful of unbloomed flowers. Tonight's trade. With emphatic gesture, it picked them up and set them closer to his feet. Small paws pat the buds, then palms splayed in what he felt could only be described as cheek... before at last darting out of sight.

Hotep cast a sideways eye at Sitamun, lip quirking.