Much trouble had come into the court of Horus. At its birth, Hotep had taken his place in the shadow of falcon wings, defiant of all that might tip the scales of Ma'at into disorder. And since, devoted himself to prayer, to the maintenance of purity, to the dedication of servitude. The kingdom depended upon just such things.

And of the First of the Gods, he begged for signs.

'Satakhetem.' Beloved of Ra, Daughter of the Black Horizon. A promised Queen, poised to raise the seat of Horus into dawn.

But Hotep saw in her another composite, Set, the All Complete One. As if he of the storm had claimed Ra's throne and not Horus.

It was troubling. There had been no portents of her coming, for good or ill. So he stood now, paws wet by the black soiled shore of the River. He looked upon the stars, traced patterns in their myriad forms, and sought for what he had failed to see before.

The heavens rained, meteorites scoured the tapestry of blue and black. As their light set green haze upon the horizon, the eyes of crocodiles glimmered from the waters. Watching.