Jackal. That I am, following a scented trail through this labyrinth of colonnaded halls. A redolent mix of pungent and sweet- spices, gums, cedars wholly burned, permeates the night, enveloping the Temple and its inhabitants in a state of torpid peace. Door after door line these hallways like a row of soldiers, indistinguishable, one a twin to the next. But which--? A short pause.

Movement.

Stealthy retreat.

Standing motionless now, with my arms behind my back, tightly grasping the nearest collona, body firmly pressed against it. With my eyes shut, it's almost as if I have become one with the pillar, silently melting into the words of praise painted there upon.

Not a word. Only the soft rustle of cotton veils, followed by the heady scent of her perfume, as she passes by with her small retinue. Then- Silence. For several minutes I remain, tranfixed to the pillar, as though pierced through the heart by Heru's tenth harpoon, daring not to move.

Emergence.

Apprehesively proceeding onward, ever cognizant of her now familiar scent. Adrift, aloft, buoyant upon the still night air, her very essence aids in my pursuit of her.

I am just outside her door.

Reaching. -- Hesitation.

Would she, in all her knowledge of what is true and holy, instantly find me to be an aberration of humanity, an insult to the Priesthood, my former rank? Would she not immediately call the guards and turn me over to Pharaoh's order?

Or will she, in that same sense of Ma'at, take me into her sleeping chamber, there enfold me in tender wings- concealing, questioning, listening and possibly-- believing? But would that not condemn her as well? I know that I have but one fleeting moment to decide.

After coming this far, have I made a grave mistake?

Should she choose to summon the guards, will I allow the darkness of self-preservation to take control, make her a hostage, ensuring my escape? Or perhaps I will ravish her there in her own chambers- revel in flesh upon flesh, just one time, before being sent to certain death?

The very scent of her. This Priestess- Woman. She has dizzied me somnambulant.

_________________

The fugitive makes a hasty retreat, no longer trusting his motivation. The purpose for which he came to follow her has become clouded-- a combination of primal urge and broken heart. He wants her now-- even more than he wants to free himself from the past.