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They ate.
She ate lustily, like one fighting to regain her strength. He wondered if she
brought the same amiable appetite to all her pleasures. She drained her cup
twice and refilled it and filled it again. She drank that too and offered him
more, but he covered the mouth of his cup.
She looked disappointed.
“Does the
good bowman not unstring his bow at night to relax it?”
“I must
stay alert,” he said.
“Do you
hunt at night?”
“Sometimes.
But I must always take care I am not the hunted one.”
“What is
it that you hunt, beautiful man? Other than poor helpless girls in the reeds
who cannot hide
their nakedness."
“I'm
hunting for the cat of destruction,” he said. “I am here to end her rampage.”
“You -
hunting a goddess?” She was astonished. “With a bow and arrow? You come to hunt
a goddess
and you ended up bagging me. Don't be disappointed though. Maybe you found her
after all. Maybe I am the goddess. Who knows what she looks like? Who has seen
her and lived?” She gave a playful growl, pretending to be Sekhmet Hathor.
She
was tiddly, strong beer acting on an empty stomach, he guessed.
“Don't
joke about the cat of destruction.”
(Extract - from a tale with a novel in 'The Smiting Texts'. Also published as a stand-alone novella in 'Hunting Hathor')
