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No torches burned inside the tunnel beneath the temple of Mut. Only the brazier Bek carried behind her drove back the blackness, and it was dimming with every passing second. Itawaret occasionally paused to search the floor for branches that she could toss into the brazier, but found nothing but cold and damp stone.     Finally, they reached a rectangular outline of light at the tunnel’s end. By the mercy of fate, the pair had not stumbled into any booby-traps, nor run into any dead ends branching off from the main passage. While dark, the journey was not as perilous as Itaweret had feared… Hopefully, it would stay that way. “How do you know this doesn’t lead to a trap?” Bek asked. “Think about it. Why would Mut lead us into a trap? Don’t you trust her enough, brother?” “Assuming that was Mut speaking to us. What if it was that Achaean demon she talked about, that Athena?” Itaweret fought hard within herself to ignore him, and the possibility he raised. It was a valid point, if she

Oh Enemy of mine enemy is my best friend indeed for he perhaps has been dealt the same cruel blows as me. Though i have never sought out an enemy so quick as most grass serpents i have found. Their red-forked tongues doth flick like dying auburn coloured fire when yielding to the sun. You ask me why my soul is tired; expecting me to run! You pull and rip out every wire and ask me "Why so torn?" As if i threw you on the pyre for challenging the norm. Oh enemy of mine enemy! Can we not co-exist? Or should we drown in enmity and move the world with fists? I hear the sounds of marching feet. Boots stomping on a face. A dead robotic rhythmic beat. This vile IN-HUMANE RACE.