Two weeks have passed since I first entered the lands of Canaan, it feels like every third day we pass a new walled city, the wine pots are slowly being emptied as each night so the horses are less worn each day. With so many cities however I'm able to constantly get fresh supplies, be it black-metal nails or copper for the wheels but the wood needed for serious repairs is hard to find now and expensive, though it's not like I'm paying either way. Every time we pass a city though we usually spend the night in the guest-hall with us occupying stable lofts or when the city's king had no such things me and Anittas as well as the rest of the lord's aides would occupy lesser rooms or some other basic or cheap accommodation. In the field the cover of the stars summer night has is the only blanket in the cool desert night. I stare up at the night sky, it's a full moon so the caravan moves ever onward down the Road of Horus. Two more days lie between our merry marriage caravan and Haruba, where Prince Kukkana's bride is to be found.   

This journey has awakened me to something though, between my conversations with Anittas, Hani, and Duddumi, I have realized that I am not actually living as opulently as I thought I was. Apparently I should also be provided beer and fruit alongside my usual meat, olives, wine, and bread back at the estate, and my seat in the feasting hall should be with the warriors not with the laborers.    

“Haduwa, are you sleeping or deaf?" calls a Babylonian accented voice. “I do not know how well you chariotmen hear with the noise of the workshops but we have been calling for you." states the champion of my lord, Sar'Nusku.

“My apologies mighty one, my hearing is not so good, as you correctly thought, what does Lord Kukkana need from me?" I reply, careful to maintain proper formalities with a Kusisi. 

“His victorious chariot has thrown an axle." He answers curtly with his strange manner of speech seeping through. “Though between two of the us, it was the same one you counseled him take not." He admits cordially, still not with a full grasp on the tongue of his lord and his estate.

“Give me a moment to gather tools Sar'Nusku, or would you prefer to accompany me?" You ask.

“Join must I." He states, again not anywhere near properly.

I quickly gather the tools I need; hammers, pliers, clamps, an ax, my knives, nails, hand drills, and chisels, one of which is mounted at the end of a spear shaft. I hurriedly put them into the leather sack I use to transport them and then Sar'Nusku begins to lead me to the lord's chariot. The nightime sand shifts ever so slightly beneath my sandals as I approach my lord's camp. Even from afar he stands out from the rest of his retinue, the vibrant colors on his tunics, the lack of any fraying by the wrists or ankles, and various gold, bronze, silver, and jeweled ornaments on his large hat or made into jewelry. 

“Mighty one, I have come to replace the failed part" I say, careful to never insinuate it is his fault for its failure.

“Thank you Haduwa, I have gathered a fine axle to replace the failure. Hepatuzzi, you will be his aide until the repair is done." He orders one of his scantily clad concubines.

Hepatuzzi, a fellow human like the lord, just scowls at you as she waits for Lord Kukkana to meander off with the rest of his harem. “Do not thing I will rough my hand to aide you worker." She spits with a Kalveti accent. 

The one retainer remaining by the chariot glares at Hepatuzzi, as he opens his mouth I raise my hand to show I have it under control. “Unfortunately for you kusisi if he and I say you were insubordinate, you will have insulted our great lord and myself, not only bringing great shame to yourself. You will do as I say as my aide, nothing more, nothing less." I state, this being far from the first time I've had to deal with insubordinate outer harem members.

I slide beneath the pre-supported chariot, and it looks like the job will be little more than a simple axle change, no damage to the riding platform nor were the bronze naves or wheel hub damaged beyond needing a simple hammering. I remove the bronze pegs in the nave-neck from the chassis and slide out the two halves of the broken axle. Before remounting I hammer out the problematic pieces, double check the fellow on the wheels for cracks, and make sure that the spokes are still held firm to the wheel and make sure that my little experiment with using black metal nails through the bronze tires made both wear down slower than conventional design. It has been, so there's likely no need for me to change out the wheels until we get to Kemet, though the black metal rounded more than I'd like.

“Aide, axle." I call out after sliding beneath the chariot again.

“Do it kusisi." Growls the human guard.

The wooden shaft plops down in the sand next to you. Rounded axle rather than a block with a taper into the spoke size, a proper Hittite axle. Eventually I need to try reinforcing the main shaft with bronze wire or bronze brackets with black metal nails. The brackets seemed to work really well on the floor platform of the chariots of the house, not to mention how it allowed the lord to nail in fine textiles to the floor platform, something I heard caused great stir on the last campaign. After setting the axle I mount the set the space between the axle braces and the wheel assembly, lining up the wheel so it won't shake and damage anything while not being so tight it ruins it all. Once I finish shimmying it properly into place I get my drill and begin the long process of drilling the connection points. After a half hour, I'm finally able to fumble with the glue, half-dowels, and wedges to secure a tight connection between the new axle and the wheel hub. Just as the glue finishes drying to my hands and has begun to set, Lord Kukkana returns with his harem.

“Haduwa, have the repairs been finished?" He asks expectantly.

“Yes, mighty one, but it will take time for the glue to set in the wheels, perhaps taking until morning in the cold." I answer careful to bow my head to the lord.

“Was Hepatuzzi helpful?" He asks again in the same tone.

“She handed me my tools as I required, though her hands should still be soft." I answer hiding the whole truth.

“Good job Hepatuzzi, I had worried you would shame me before my household and one of the best craftsmen in all of the Empire, who has produced things for me that even the King of Kadesh desired and the King of Hattusa commissioned him through me to make." He boasts, careful to mention the accomplishments awarded to him, not me.      

“Thank you Haduwa, please enjoy the rest of your night." He says dismissing me.

 “No, actually wait, Zapalli, get Haduwa a haunch of the fattened calf on the spit, he and the other craftsmen have earned far more than their keep." He orders the guard. 

“In the meantime Haduwa, let us speak as equals, this going to Haruba is a twofold endeavor, for one, I am to wed Princess Aahmas, a woman as beautiful as the green sea at sunset with skin the color of the full moon, but you have a place in this too. You see Haduwa, I would like you to make a set of two, preferably three, chariots that will make all others look as old as the pyramids up from Inebu-Hedj, once we arrive in Haruba, you will have access to the bronze works and a vast supply of Lebanese Cedar. If you are successful, both my father King Taru of Ura and Lord Djehutihoptep of Haruba may find you, indispensable to say." He proposes.

“You see, the Emperor and Pharaoh have both had problems with the Mtanni, Kassites, and wretched Assyrians, have been prooving quite the problem in recenty years, arrows that can piece cedar, spearmen lines that just reform after a charge, alongside their already powerful chariots. We need something new to shatter them." He explains.

So there's a reward involved with this? No wonder why I finally got my dues. Though why on earth would he think chariots are the key to winning wars? The Kaska use slingers and unarmored spearmen and we regularly fail to conquer them. The Karvelli use bows and stone axes and we still can't always beat them. The Mtanni are probably no different than any other group of hated primitives. “Forgive my ignorance, but what are these, Assyrians, Mtanni and Kassites? All my experience in war has been against peoples with no chariots in the mountains where they were of little use." I ask.

“Right I forget you grew up Azzi Hayasa at my father's frontier estate. Well, the Mtanni, Assyrians, and Kassites, all live in the eastern plains, where the water comes from the Tigress and Euphrates, and they use chariots in war alongside footmen, but the chariot is the king of war in the plains just like the warband is the king in the mountains. Aside from that those three kingdoms are powerful, very powerful so much so that we Hittites and the Egyptians together could not defeat any of their two kingdoms." He explains.

“So, you new kinds of chariot. Tell me what sorts of things you think are important or current problems?" I ask.

Lord Kukkana opens his mouth to speak. “I think I have a better still idea, I will return to you a list once I confer with lord Djehutihoptep."

Lord Kukkana seems rather pleased with his idea, even if I helped inspire it. Such is life in the retinue of a lord. Soon enough I'm eating freshly roasted honied calf and slightly stale bread with the boys back at the baggage train. Three more days until we reach Haruba, or as I've heard some locals call it, Askrhrhe-Emnt. With a full belly I turn in underneath the starlit night in Canaan.I dream of my first days of learning how to make bronze molds and shaping black metal, but instead of my old mentor, its Hasameli himself as we idly chat about life, wives, and children as we cast a great metal feather to adorn a chariot like no other with.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Weeks have passed since I started work for Lord Djehutihoptep, and I must say my feathers now lay much closer to my scalp than when I worked for the Priestess of Hathor. Now, each day I rise from own bed, a real, proper bed made from linen and stuffed with cotton and hay, I have aides that do their work, as I ask, to the standard I need, the papyrus is never wrinkled, and the clay is never flat, even my tools are inspected weekly by the Lord's bronze working department for quality, and the best part is, is that I, ME, get to do my job of ensuring all comings and goings from the estate or with the estate's seal up and down the royal road are accounted for, insured, and properly inspected. On matters of the household itself I get the privilege of ensuring the needed shipments of food, tin, copper, timber, clay, papyrus, that the guest-house portion of the estate needs to run are issued. Since I arrived, the kitchen staff have taken to me like a sister as I've ensured everything they, and the rest of the guest-kitchen needs. Oh, this entire place runs like a dream, the main estate has its own set of scribes who manage several departments of other scribes, who then manage the Lord's will and obligations across the cities' official, administrative designation, Horus Road Fort Western. Clear, concise, and defining, what more could a scribe or a woman want in a designation?

Today though, I was given something I had never once dreamed of in the work of the temple, a rest day, given to me by the Lord himself along with a pitcher of Minoan wine, a leg of smoked lamb, good milled bread, and a basket of fruit to enjoy with it. From the balcony in my apartment I'm able to watch the soldiers go about their daily training. The Libyans practicing their javelin throwing and prowess with an axe, bare feathered Bustards the lot of them. The next are my own Egyptians, a wide spread of humans, birds, reptiles, and a few furfolk, but the two that are most appealing to my eye is a human guard practicing his khopesh with a plover with the most wonderful of plumage. The two of them, the sweating human glistening like bronze in the hot sun dueling with the plover who's black feathers make it seem like he's wearing a mast connected to a hood, like a hero from legend. After them are the Hebrews, a very modest spread of furfolk and humans, the only uncovered parts of them are their faces and hands and even that seems reluctant, one of my own married guards is out there clashing staffs with a Libyan and from the looks of things, winning. I know that the peoples north of here are far less capable of restraining themselves unlike our own but why do they cover themselves more than a Mycenean? It makes little sense and likely just invites lice and fleas. 

Enough thinking, today I have to myself, and not having new ink or clay dust in the tips of forefeathers is wonderful, not to mention the relief in the hands. Incredible what even a morning not having to work with the mountain of stamps, scribes tools, and bone tubes can do. I hear today or tomorrow, both days I have off according to Lord Djehutihoptep as he wants me well rested for the welcome feast of the the mighty Prince Kukkana, son of King Taru, guest friend of Lord Djehutihoptep of the Hittites the friends of Kemet. I rub my head, just beneath my eyes so it helps end the ruffling sound of formality. The Lord was right, I needed some time off, I'm thinking with all the formality of writing.

Despite my rubbing I still hear the pitter-patter shoes still rushing around my station. Bursting through the beaded curtain that hangs over the open door to the balcony is my assigned maid. So I wasn't going crazy. Delightful.

The smaller plover woman, presses her claws onto her mostly bare thighs and takes a few breaths before opening her beak to speak. “Mistress Meryt, the caravan of King Taru's son arrived at the walls this morning, so you need to prepare yourself for their arrival, so get your finery on. Oh and the Lord Djehutihoptep, blessed by Horus does he reign, requests your presence about a special matter, so do make haste." She stammers before dashing right back off the balcony.

“Oh." I say before I realize my beak was hanging open near enough to the entire time. So much for the lamb I guess.

I enter my apartment and find three maids ready. “Mistress Meryt, we haven't much time, so please remove your clothes, or we will." The eldest of the three threatens with a smile, the old Jackal probably having done this to women far closer to Ra than herself more times than I'd care to know.

In a rush I throw off my scribe uniform, the short opaque tunic and before I can protest the jackal, plover, and the human already have their hands on me. One cranes my beak up and struggles to keep my writhing neck straight as the other two drag the translucent white dress over my shoulders before the old jackal releases my neck to toss breast nets over the white dress, tying the garment's four strings masterfully into a knot a the base of my neck and the other two practically bolt the thing there with a head-scribes' wesekh collar. I try to squawk at the younger maids as they grab coloring powders but the jackal clamps by beak shut and pins me in such a way that I can neither peck nor claw at the younger maids as they do the patterns into my arm feathers and tail feathers. Now, covered in clothes that hide nothing and emphasize the slight pink of my nipples. Oh it hurts to even think about having outlanders see me like this.

“Thank you all, for… doing this… to me?" I say forcing myself from trying to peck every woman in this room before I stalk towards the door.

“Oh no mistress, the head scribe cannot be seen without her ladies-in-waiting." The human woman protests as she dons her own, far simpler, formal wear, no blue, not even any sort of breast covering, just large bronze breasts the size of large pomegranates before my own lemons. As the rest of the maids prepare themselves, the old jackal the only one with some top covering, I take a look at each of my attendants, the human and jackal are wives and mothers already from the bone rings on their fourth finger to bind their vein of love, despite her not being wed or having the hips to lay, the plover has breasts near enough to the size of her head leaning over to seemingly mock me in her manner.

Before the urge to peck the maids rises again I've already been hurried halfway down the hall by the mixed gaggle of attendants. I come to my senses as they seemingly prepare to throw me like a rolled carpet over their shoulders and carry me like a statue down the stairs. “WAIT!" I squawk in protest.

The three maids halt, let me go, and wait. “Pardon, pardon, I hadn't meant to me so crass. I can go down the stairs myself, you wouldn't want to ruin the lovely powder you've done on my feathers." I say, practically biting my tongue with my appeal.

The jackal crosses her arms and nods. “Good on you for finally coming to your senses, mistress." she beams.

I make my way down the carved limestone stairs, the statues on the raised platforms going down from the aspect of Ptah and Sekhmet, to the Pharaoh and the Oyhp Oypw, to two figures adorned in noble's finery, then priest and a priestess, to two scribes, then craftsmen, then farmers, and finally servants on the last platforms before the slaves on the ground floor. I crane my neck to take one more look at the grand guest stairway, the black statues illuminated by torchlight and the carved stairs give a sense of opulence unlike any other.

My strange procession towards the main estate draws the eyes of almost every soldier on the training grounds, except the Hebrews who make a point of not looking. I have to clamp my beak shut from the clacking in laughter as I see a man who was gathering arrows from a target have an arrow fly right past him before the poor hyena leaps from shock. Quickly we hurry in through the servant's entrance to the grand palace and I'm rushed up the stairs to the great open area halfway up the grand estate, and here I'm seated on the third level from the top, befitting of a scribe and in the center, where the head scribes sit. My equals are adorned in equally gaudy getups, with the Libyan man painted from head to toe in the blessed colors while the crocodile has his scales painted like bronze scale armor, but both seem excited.

As I get settled in on the padded blocks I see the grand parade of our guests arrive, twenty war chariots supported by fifty wagons and two hundred armored footmen with every tenth carrying the great standard of the Ura, King Taru. On the main chariot, the prince stands in brilliant bronze armor presenting a great black-metal axe and a jewel encrusted helm. His shieldbearer and lance bearer are equally well adorned with a great personal standard mounted to the rear of the chariot. On the chariots to his left and right I assume are his champions, a large, stocky human adorned in bronze scale and wielding a great hammer, while the other is taller still and slender and presents a bronze sword. Though the one with the hammer and the man I assume to be Prince Kukkana, seem to be in deep conversation. The parade down the main road from the gate is slow moving as the Hittites pass around their customary welcoming gifts to the masses, what's left of their wine, meat, flour, and is that dried fish? I didn't believe it when I heard that the Mycenae did it, but that's just wrong, fish really needs to be fresh.

The grand parade makes its way to the grand entrance to the palace ground and Lord Djehutihoptep's champion sets forth to meet the champion of prince Kukkana, which happens to oddly be the more slender of the two men who meets him in combat with the quarterstaffs provided. The duel is mainly to keep everyone preoccupied while the baggage train sets up to prevent sticky fingers from moving around. Now that the helmeted and armored soldiers are closer to the palace I can see that they're divided into columns by their race, humans, eagles, wolves, horses, deer, pumas, crows, seals, nine squirrels led by a rat, and a column of some sort of goat. The same pattern but flipped is repeated among the archers. The Prince descends from his chariot and is accompanied by four more men who look hard enough to be champions in their own right, adorned in painted bronze or black metal armor, the rest of his chariot retainers, and the standard bearer from every column of soldiers as a small army of attendants races out to accompany the prince and perform the proper rituals of Sekhmet.

As the great host of the prince works their way through the levels and the rituals, I can feel the wine I was sipping on the balcony trying to climb its way to the Nile and my feathers begin to stand at attention starting at the edge of my beak and moving down my neck until I'm puffed up like a cotton flower. My legs tremble and I hear a voice, the same voice from my dream. “Oh here they come, the grooms!" cheers the voice of Thoth.

The grand parade enters like a victorious army, the bannermen leading their prince, the positions having changed at some point in the palace, the noble warriors, and champions stand at attention, their necks tight like a heron ready to strike. I turn up to see Lord Djehutihoptep standing before the guest. The two men, even without the five scores of armored guards in the room, look like a mighty crocodile staring down at a fearsome lion. The prince reaches for his axe and the room rattles like a smithy as the hundred guards prepare their weapons. The prince raises the polished-silver axe up as if to make a grand proclamation…

… and the prince then shifts into graceful a kneel, offering the axe as a gift to Lord Djehutihoptep. 

The soldiers let out a long, deep breath as Lord Djehutihoptep descend down the terraced platform. “Rise, son of Hattusa, rise Kukkana, son of Taru, Prince of Ura and the Kaska frontier, my own son-in-law, rise to meet your uncle by oath." He commands

The Prince rises slowly and gracefully still presenting the axe to the lord. “Thank you mighty uncle, I was unfamiliar with your ways, so I have brought you the customary gift from nephew to uncle, a war axe." The prince details in quite decent Egyptian all things considered.

Lord Djehutihoptep examines the axe, even sliding his finger ever so gently across the blade only to find blood running from his finger tip. The man's eyes are as wide as an owlfolks in his human skull. “What wonderful craftsmenship… an axe of pure black metal, a handle like a rein, easy to shift with a light grip but nye impossible to slip when a proper grip is place upon it." He pronounces.

“The man who made this axe is the same man who made those chariots on the training grounds, a certain Haduwa… Haduwa, please step forward." The Prince procliams.

The barrel-built human who I thought was a champion steps forward, performing a bow at the waist, befitting a scribe or bronze worker to a lord. “I hope I have your forgiveness if I miss any customs." Haduwa asks with the proper courtesy and surprisingly in Egyptian.

“So you're the great chariot maker of Ura, you look more like a fighting man than a craftsman." Djehutihotep inquires.

“I have been on a few campaigns, Mighty One. One can hardly hope to know a chariot without having to repair them in the field, knowing the tricks to make them more resilient to the stress of war." The man says unthinkably looking the Lord right in his eyes.

“So, did you learn to repair chariots because you fought on them as a retainer?" Djehutihotep questions.

The chariot mechanic's eyes go wide. “Me? By Hasameli no, I was a carpenter dragged into a campaign because the Kaska stole my sheep. When I saw what these “revered chariot maintainers" were doing I realized I could do it better, faster, and more efficiently, so I did. After that I learned the ways of bronze working when I was seventeen, where my master taught me the ways of working black metal as well as bronze. Ever since I've been making sure the war machines of the Mighty King Taru of Ura and the Kaska Frontier are the best I can make them." He explains before his bronzed skin turns pale.

“Forgive me Mighty One, I think I spoke too much." He quickly apologizes.

“There is nothing to apologize for, in fact you have proven your master's word." The Lord proclaims before sliding into an earnest, hearty laugh.

I shift into a more comfortable position as I watch the Lord shift his attention back to the prince. He places his arm on the shoulder of the prince. “Come son-to-be, settle your retinue among mine, and have that charioteer placed among the scribes." He casually states.

The two older scribes' eyes flash as the armored man is raised to their status. Surely this is merely a formality given the Hatti are such a different people, right? The Lord and Prince ascend the terraced platforms to the throne, the retinue taking their places along the terrace, most of the soldiers taking the newly empty left side of the terraced platform above the scribes'. The murmur of nobles talking among themselves washes over like gentle waves across the steps of the terraced platform. The carpenter-metalworker stands next to the stairway that runs in the center of the terraced platform, looking between the two older male scribes and myself.

I rise to a sitting position. “Please Hatti, sit." I say, keeping formal with the guest.

“Oh, I'll join the other men I guess." he says slowly and with a heavy accent. 

The older gator grumbles out “Sit next to Meryt Haduwa of the Hatti, the balance is important to please Sekhmet."

The man looks down towards me. “Are you Meryt, or am I being insulted? My Egyptian isn't very good." He asks.

“I am Meryt, please, sit on this side of the stairs" I suggest.

The man clumsily steps off of the stairs and in his stumble barely misses my legs. Now that he's sitting next to me, I can get a good look at his features. Fairly normal height for a human but broader than most of any race, paler, more of an olive than the bronzed skin I see on the humans here in Kemet. Actually everything about this human is paler, his eyes are green rather than brown, his hair and beard are a pale brown, further inspection reveals that his hairs run straight unlike the curlier hair like the native humans here. Interesting, those things must be like leg and plumage colors among my own herons and egrets.

“Haduwa was it? How was the journey through Canaan from Ura?" I ask politely, reassuming my lying position as I speak. 

“We took ships from Ura to Ugarit, and from there I and ten apprentices of the master of the chariot of the city spent a short evening reassembling the chariots and preparing the wagons. After which we departed, my theories about larger axles and drilling the wheel hubs directly into the chariots proved worthwhile on the journey we only threw four of the pre-prepared axles, and one that was given as a gift in Philu." He explains as I know how impressive that is.

I just stare at the strange human who appears equally dumbfounded with me as I do him. I swear that the shadows lengthen as we just stare at each other. 

Oh Thoth help me I guess it is time to show the man my status. Just as I open my beak I see his lips part. “Do pardon" we say in unison. 

The staring returns until I speak up again. “So, how was it like to be given the full attention of Lord Djehutihoptep? It is a great honor to be given to outsiders." I inquire.

“Oh, the Mighty One? I suppose, the Mighty Prince Kukkana and he are discussing what features they want on future chariots so I can construct them in my time here in your most prosperous empire." He expresses, his face twisted in empuzzlement.

“Though I'll need a scribe under me like back at the estate, but I fear that here in Kemet I will be found wanting for a scribe that would even see themselves equal to a craftsman." He laments.

“Are scribes not above craftsmen among the Hatti?" I ask before I can catch myself.

“No, scribes are like any craftsman or artisan, their place is a matter of where they stand." He says, just casually.

I turn to the other scribes who, if I did not know any better, look like they just came back from having their souls judged by Anubis and were left wanting. The human looks about as pale as the Hittite does and the gator looks horrified. Even I feel a knot in my chest at the assumption that scribes are just another trade. How on earth could they assume scribes are equal to a carpenter, or bronze caster, or weaver? These people are far more alien than I first thought. 

Suddenly a voice calls. “Meryt, Haduwa, please join us, I have need to confer with the both of you." Lord Djehutihoptep calls up from the balcony, not making himself seen, not needing to.

Haduwa, instead of gracefully accepting personal acknowledgement from his betters, grumbles. The nerve of this man. Next thing he'll take a seat without being asked. While I'm in thought I notice him stride up to the main platform. With my neck held high, I see him sitting, not on the floor, on a free sofa, before the twin thrones where the Lord and Lady sit. The sofa closest to the throne, what is this man thinking?

“Mighty one, you have summoned me?" He asks, though in a manner that doesn't seem like a question.

Instead of offense, Lord Djehutihoptep seems glad that Haduwa spoke before being spoken to. “Kukkana, I must say, I have always loved how you Hatti do not worship your betters, It must be wonderful to rule over men with agency rather than men who'd rather live in your shadow." He exclaims to the prince.

“Yes, Haduwa, I summoned you and the most recent scribe of my estate, Meryt, to speak with me, sit, sit. I need both of you in this conversation." He beams.

The conversation is over exactly what Haduwa thought it'd be, new chariots, and I was there to affirm the logistics of it all. This Haduwa fellow seems to be quite important to the lord, like the cross between an expert armorer and master horse-breeder. Thoth be praised though chariot-making was a far more complex process than I thought, and the fact that this man can list off what he needs, approximations of manpower, material, time, and space are impressive in their own right. If this man were Egyptian he'd be a scribe.

In the realm of the gods, the Ibis headed god Thoth rubs his temple as he watches an Egyptian lord somehow fumbles his plans to marry off his daughter. Well not *really* his daughter, but she’s a scribe, and all scribes are his sons and daughters. Hathor sits at the table too realizing how much effort she’s going to have to put into this, Hasameli sharing the table in the aether, just smiles and nods cheerily.

“That’s a son of mine if I ever saw it, a metalworker to his core and as strong as the stuff itself, not even wavering under the gaze of a great lord.” Hasameli boasts to the table.

Thoth’s eye twitches at the remark. “You do realize scribes are much more timid than a man who plays with fire like a mad baker?” Thoth chirps annoyed.

“Boys, none of this gets a clutch of eggs in a cradle faster, I know we love our children, we all do, but we need to devise a way of getting these two to share a bed, without layers between them.” Hathor corrects.

Hasameli ponders a moment. “I could get Pirwa to-” Is all he suggests before a very annoyed squawk emerges from Thoth.

“No Pirwa! The last time Pirwa tried to help me a god in Mycenae got a headache and that BECAME a GOD.” Priwa protests.

Just as Hathor is going to try to correct the boys back in line, Sekhmet and Ptah emerge from the glowing ethereal fog of the divine realm. “I guess you’re trying to help marry off two troublesome children?” the lion headed godess asks.

Hathor just nods.

“I think we could help, after all if the god of craftsmen, creation, and sculptors and goddess of healing, protection, and war cannot help in this game, who else could?” Cheers Ptah through a toothy grin.

“Just a foreword, this is a human and a heron, in case any of you have any problems with Bennu as of short.” Hathor adds. 

Ptah’s human face twists into a devious smile as he turns to his lioness wife. “Oh honey, we get to spread the love!” He sings.

Sekhmet flashes her claws at her husband. “You are so lucky I love you so.” She growls before Ptah begins to pet his wife.

“See honey, I knew you’d agree!” He beams.