On his legs, down his chest, the streamwater falls in dirt runnels, reawakening trapped scents of dust and oxidized prey-blood. Sacrilege it must be, and yet just the opposite was true on the steppe, where a man risked offending the water spirits to wash.
“A princess must have her flowers,” his eyes glint in watchfulness. The gilded girl is an image of glaring young beauty.
“Batu Noyakin, wèi jūn to her holy highness, and sworn to your imperial service, princess Téng Lian.”
“A princess must have her flowers,” his eyes glint in watchfulness. The gilded girl is an image of glaring young beauty.
“Batu Noyakin, wèi jūn to her holy highness, and sworn to your imperial service, princess Téng Lian.”
mongolian | mandarin