Hafar

The High Priest lies back upon his golden throne.

“Hafar stands then, and signals out into the darkness. He is taller than me, his chest broad and strong. My search finds the thin carved lines of his lips, the dark pools of his eyes beneath the masculine ridge of his eyebrows, and the darkening shapes across his cheeks as the shadow of new growth begins to appear. He is handsome, as I think a representative of the gods might well be. My eyes slide again to his chest, and I count the lines of muscle as they climb down to the golden-pink sweep of his sash.”