“Pharaoh won’t be happy with us up and leaving in the middle of a war.” Engel shouldered his pack and stood at the top of a ridge of sand, gazed down at the muted fires of their old camp where medics tended to the wounded and priests tended to the dead.
“Actually, he’ll probably be glad we’re gone,” Jente said. “He wasn’t the Pharaoh who took us on, after all. He never appreciated us as much as his great-grandfather.”
“I think you mistake lack of appreciation for fear,” Engel said drily.
“I was trying to be diplomatic,” Jente said.
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