Assume this is the pharaoh Atem from Ancient Egypt who somehow found his way into modern times and they are visiting Egypt. Yeah.
He laid prone across the bow of the felucca as it cut a lazy path through the river. The sun sat at its zenith and though it beat down mercilessly on the flimsy craft, he bore the full brunt of its power. It had been too long since he had allowed the warmth of its rays to infuse his tawny skin.
He slipped his hand into the docile waters, neither cool nor particularly warm, then drew his wet palm across his brow. It was a serene afternoon. It was placid. And it was unsettling.
"I do not understand. It is the season of Akhet."
Yuugi looked up from beneath the protection of the colorful canopy. Muted light danced around him as he shuffled through a bag for the right text. "It says here the Nile stopped flooding decades ago when they built the Aswan dam."
"Such a thing is possible?" He shifted to regard his partner more clearly. It seemed unimaginable that the power of the river could be tamed by men.
Yuugi gave a shrug. He had long since grown accustomed to the pharaoh's questions. "Sure. That way they can farm year round."
He sat up, squinting past his company, beyond the banks of the river to the city on the eastern shore. It stretched as far as he could see, obscuring all trace of cultivated land. The temple of Amun still stood in a grand state of deterioration, preceded by an expansive forecourt. He could just picture the torrid flood waters washing over those smooth tiles to lap at the gates of the first pylon. Everything in its path submerged.
With a sigh, he turned away and slid lethargically from his perch to occupy a space next to Yuugi. Reaching across him, he picked up a small doum fruit and tossed one to his partner. It was a peasant's treat but something about it reminded him of home. And just as when he was a kid, he pressed the dark, hard flesh to his lips to bite off a small chunk. It was immediate the way the rich, malty flavor burst forth in his mouth.
They waded on to the sound of the motor and summer cicadas, savoring the last of the fruit as he turned his attention to the west bank.
Yuugi had said it tasted like something called gingerbread.