A Day to Rejoice of in Memory
It had been a busy day. They had spent most of it on the river, accompanied by a couple of young guards whose skiff Mahad could see just ahead of their own. Like the arrangement in his own boat, one boy crouched low while the other poled the boat through the water. Despite the hour and the exertions of the day, both guards appeared alert, their heads turning to scan the water for crocodiles.
Deftly poling his own small boat through the water, Mahad felt tired but contented. Days like this one were rare enough that he knew to savor them: their venture into the papyrus groves had yielded plenty of game birds for the hunt, no ill-tempered hippos, and only a single lazy crocodile that had easily been persuaded to relocate itself elsewhere.
Now, their party was returning from the hunt. The setting sun gilded the waters of the Great River and a cooling breeze from the north whispered through the thick clumps of reeds growing along the banks. A bird called from the shadows, a gentle song easing the Great God Ra on His journey into the West. As Atum-ra, He would travel through the Duat to be reborn at dawn.
From the corner of his eye, Mahaad watched as, emulating his namesake, Atem sank toward the horizon of sleep. He settled lower into his seat at the prow of the little boat, his eyelids drooping as the rocking of the skiff lulled him into a half-doze. He appeared to be resisting mightily, blinking at the rustling reeds and hiding a yawn behind his upraised hand. His striped hunting cat curled against his side, its furry head tucked beneath the prince's other hand while he absently stroked its large ears. Only the occasional twitch of those ears betrayed the fact that the little beast was still awake. In the bottom of the boat, their curved throwing sticks lay discarded beside a large sack which held the birds they (and the cat) had caught.
The cook would be pleased, Mahad thought. And all would eat well thanks to the young prince's strong arm and clever eye. Truly, it made Mahad proud to see how Atems' skills increased with each new excursion.
In a hushed voice, Mahad asked, "Shall I tell you a story, my prince?"
"A story?" Atem blinked at him slowly, considering the suggestion. "...Yes. I should like to hear a story."
Deftly, Mahad wove a tale about a wise pharaoh and the faithful magician who served him as advisor, guardian, and friend. Just as the clever magician was about to avenge an insult to his king by turning the evil-doer into a monkey, the exhausted prince succumbed to sleep. The cat awoke, sitting up to peer alertly into the gathering shadows like Ra's Great Cat, ready to defend the boat from all enemies.
"May Bes guard your dreams, my prince," Mahad said, softly enough that the cat barely twitched its ears. He leaned heavily on the pole to steer the skiff toward shore. "And may all the Netjeru keep you safe."
One day, the prince would no longer be Falcon in the Nest. He would be the Golden Horus, the living embodiment of the kingly ka. There would be little time, then, for hunting birds in the papyrus groves, and even less for humorous tales to lure him to sleep.
Mahad sent a final glance to the setting sun, and with it a prayer of thanksgiving and hope - gratitude for such a perfect day and hope that the end of such days would be long delayed. His magic had warned him of a darkness to come; he could only pray that it would not come soon. When the boat nudged up against the riverbank at the docking place, he scooped up the hunting cat and handed it off to one of the waiting guards. The other, he told to bring their throwing sticks and the sack of birds.
He would carry Prince Atem himself. For as long as the prince needed him, Mahad vowed, he would serve.