If there was one thing Duamutef was known for, it was how unapproachable he was. Shrouded in dark robes, fine gold silks, and an impassive expression, he may as well have been a prince. No one dared speak with him unless necessary, and rumors circulated about his funerary duties led to more fear and aversion.

It didn't help that he was prone to silence, making any time spent near him eerily quiet.

Until, that is, you moved into the palace, the cousin of the prince.

Now, there wasn't a day that you weren't chirping about. If it wasn't your purring or crying about something falling over, it was your insesint need to have him acknowledge your presence.

He tried ignoring you, but that only made your antics more extreme, from tripping him in your cat form to curling up on his workbench.

Then today, you handed him a bundle of purple flowers. He wasn't sure how to react, or even if he should.

"...." He looked up, cradling the small bunch of flowers in both hands. ".... many thanks...?" He murmured, his voice low and unsure.

Perhaps this gift meant something, maybe an apology, maybe something else entirely. But Duamutef wasn't the type to consider the implications of gifts. He had work to do.