deep down to my roots

A servant at the ready, always.

When he wasn't at the Pharaoh's side, he kept himself busy with menial tasks.

On this eve, it was a grueling task. Hunters had returned, a camel in tow. It did not make for the best of furs, but he would make it work. For the divine needed better than soil to sleep upon in their new palace!

He worked meticulously, separating the skin and fur carefully from the flesh. It was tedious, but he didn't mind the distraction. Once the creature was properly skinned, he could split one task into two and set the fur aside to settle a bit before he washed it and preened the surface.

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there was a hierarchy to this place. not out of the ordinary for wolves—his mother's pack had featured leaders and underlings, promotions, and such—but akashingo felt stricter even than that. princes and princesses by birthright, nobles—such as himself; and how had he managed that?—

warriors. servants.

one of the latter crouched nearby now, working recent kills with his teeth to strip away pelts. curious, his head cocked, and he approached with a gentle chuff and smile for the fellahin.

“what are you doing?” he queried. “would you like some help?”

it looked like tedious work, after all, and two heads were better than one.

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