He is fighting a battle of old trauma, she is fighting a battle of new pain. It makes them sloppy, though he had perhaps thought as much of himself in this realm moreso than she had believed she’d be. Flirtation might have been all well and good with someone who did not take it to heart, who had not felt the pull of his soul for it’s other half. Her heart had yearned for Sakhmet - but even now, seeing how she pursues him against her better judgement and his will, he believes she feels what had scared him too.

She had discovered the mess of him, the dangerous threat that he posed, and she had - in no uncertain terms - told him what he had always known he would hear. Too much. He was too much and though she suggests there might be some clearing of heads - he knows that there would be no such relief for him. Covetous had never been a word that others would have titled him with, but here he was - sick with it because in her deepest and least dark heart, he knew why he had to have her.

He tells her that Sakhmet is gone and it is almost as though she hadn’t noticed the gray mare leaving -- surprising him and only making him more certain of what he was withholding himself from. She is devastated, as he knew she’d be, but he did not summon her and so he could not alleviate that pain.

Her relinquished pursuit of him makes him shake himself from head to haunch, shuddering his nerves free so that his mask was not so rigid and unyielding seeming anymore. When she glances back at him, he has found some of his control again and the mask does not look to hide quite so much unyielding passion or wild possession.

When she had come back from the far-away heart-meet, a wild galloping mare that he could not blame her for loving, she is stepping up to that line that he had so carefully kept between them. He stands firm when she reaches out for him, breaking his retreat in light of her pain, and the trace of her muzzle along the constellations printed onto his hide nearly has him begging her.

As she touches him, just as the contact is broken, he opens his eyes from the despairing elation of her touch to see Sayyida’s halted approach. His mask is torn free from his face, utterly lost to him. "Eness, you will never have to be of two pieces again, not with me.... Your heart may break for your sadiqaa, but come and listen to one who knows..." He actually snakes his head low, cantering at first to catch her and then herd her towards the form of Sayyida.

"Sister!" he calls, voice laden so heavy with yearning and fear and hope that there is no single tone to his pleading. "I cannot speak for myself the same way my brother did with you… and I am no Rigel to explain as he would... Please, I beg you to be my Voice of Wosret, First Wife of Ra. Speak for me as my sister, as Mira, as another Soul Sewn to one who does not understand--"

And here he realizes just too well that he might be the butt end of a couple jokes, pleading as he was with her to help him marry to a woman who did not understand that the very core of his heart would not be so swayed if it were only the flames of Qetesh and fires of Min burning within them. "I am not my brother and cannot wed her without a Voice of Wosret to speak to her of what I feel to my core. I need her to understand what you knew the moment you saw me lay eyes on her… Sayyida, Mira, please." And that right there… that was the most pleading expression of his desperation as anyone had ever beheld.

He looks at Eness, suddenly so uncompromisingly bare in the face as to actually look the twin of Rigel at last. "Eness, I will keep watch still, but I beg you listen to what Sayyida will say… I do not know how to... " he looks at Sayyida with self-despair in his eyes, then with a most awkward and boyish bow of his head to them both, he turns and walks towards the remaining brother just out of earshot of anything they might speak about.