two herons! your strike was ordained by the gods,
khaemwaset declared, and i defer to your victory. these skins and the blue stone are yours. and the feathers of this loon also.
he found himself turning sheepish, and lest he show this to his scribe, spoke. pharaoh cannot hunt the heron. but nobles such as yourself may. therefore the right is yours and not mine. it is something which demands remembering,
yet he grinned, for he had not.
i will hunt the ducks with you again, for another round, if you are pleased, y’var’la.
the blood was hot within him, and he was not certain that he was finished with coursing after waterfowl. you are a good hunter. it is moments like these only when i wish for the freedom of nobility.