It is likely that Menkhet is like Nyteshade, the boy thinks; passive things were too boring. It would take steady attention to keep her own, or perhaps his own lack of interest sparks hers. He thinks that she might respond with some fangs; after all, it is her forte. He rather likes the dance of teeth and claws. One day she might not play so nice. One day she might taste from him the copper in his veins, and one day he might taste from hers the same, all because the viciousness that lies within their bones.

She leans in, captivated by his words, he thinks. His bottom black jaw opens as he grins at her, pink tongue lashing out to wipe across his upper silver muzzle. A name; what a precious thing. A name could be whispered. A name could be shouted. Some names might never be forgotten. Would Menkhet be forgotten? He doubted it. Her mother had carved out a legacy and it seemed her progeny would fulfill whatever destiny that carving inspired. Savathun. What an unutterable name. He mouths it, no sound coming out, pale green-gray eyes brightening in delight.

Further she comes and he stands his ground, thrilled by the secret of a name. Ah, the fangs come, as he expected, and he closes his eyes with a sigh as her teeth scrap across his maw. The burn of bruised skin and tender bone follow but in this moment, it is an offering of trust. Swift as a viper, as he is born of snakes, he lowers his head down and steps into her, his own teeth seeking to scrape across the side of her jaw. Would she return his offer of trust?

Whatever the outcome, he steps backwards, tail wagging slightly in anticipation. A giddy giggle is given, cackle-like once more. ”A name is a good secret. Here is mine: the snake has returned and the snake will unleash his venom into this world. Do you think it will survive the toxin?” He tilts his head, blinking boldly, before bursting out into strange laughter once more, practically dancing on his toes. Sekhmet had been a strange ally of Blackthorne’s and she always referred to him as a snake so there was no doubt that Menkhet would understand, or at least, tell her mother who would understand the implications.