Walking out of the cool of his temple felt like entering a sauna. Acatl took a deep breath and instantly regretted it; the air felt and tasted like hot soup, and no sooner did it hit his nose than his sinuses all but clanged shut in self-defense. His heavy formal cloak was suffocating.
Ichtaca grunted instead of speaking. He grumbled something indistinct back. Unless you were actively channeling Mictlan’s power, it didn’t do a thing to dissipate the ovenlike heat. And of course it didn’t do a thing for the wet, clammy, disgusting feeling of sweat accumulating on your skin with nowhere to evaporate to. The thought of descending the temple steps in full noon sunlight made him want to cry, but he started walking anyway. One step at a time, he told himself. Think about anything else. Anything.
“Acatl-tzin!”
Oh no. Teomitl was at the base of the pyramid. Granted, he was often here at noon—since that terrible plague he’d made it a point to stop by, apparently in the belief that Acatl needed to eat something—but at the moment Acatl really didn’t have the energy to greet him. He nodded instead, hoping he wasn’t too badly wilted.
Instead of commenting on his appearance or the weather, Teomitl uttered the most beautiful sentence he’d heard all day: “I brought shaved ice for everyone!”
Obsidian & Blood, Acatl
Walking out of the cool of his temple felt like entering a sauna. Acatl took a deep breath and instantly regretted it; the air felt and tasted like hot soup, and no sooner did it hit his nose than his sinuses all but clanged shut in self-defense. His heavy formal cloak was suffocating.
Ichtaca grunted instead of speaking. He grumbled something indistinct back. Unless you were actively channeling Mictlan’s power, it didn’t do a thing to dissipate the ovenlike heat. And of course it didn’t do a thing for the wet, clammy, disgusting feeling of sweat accumulating on your skin with nowhere to evaporate to. The thought of descending the temple steps in full noon sunlight made him want to cry, but he started walking anyway. One step at a time, he told himself. Think about anything else. Anything.
“Acatl-tzin!”
Oh no. Teomitl was at the base of the pyramid. Granted, he was often here at noon—since that terrible plague he’d made it a point to stop by, apparently in the belief that Acatl needed to eat something—but at the moment Acatl really didn’t have the energy to greet him. He nodded instead, hoping he wasn’t too badly wilted.
Instead of commenting on his appearance or the weather, Teomitl uttered the most beautiful sentence he’d heard all day: “I brought shaved ice for everyone!”