Hawk sat by the airship window, watching the golden ribbon that was the Nile pass beneath them. Despite the fact it had been two months since Inundation, the flooding had not yet subsided. The river would drop back to its normal level soon enough. I've been here long enough to know the rhythms of the river, he told himself. Hawk wondered if he would ever see his homeland again.  He looked at himself, wearing a blue cavalryman jacket, and the shirt and pants of westernized Egyptian. Would the Sioux even recognize me?  Do I recognize myself? Neither Egyptian nor Lakota.

"You seem lost in thought." Hawk looked up and saw Mr. Crocodile standing over him.

“My place in the world, I find myself wondering about it," Hawk said.

“We all do from time to time,” Mr. Crocodile said. “You are aware of Murat or Me, what Westerners often call Maat?”

“Yes,” Hawk said. “It has similarities with my people’s concept of Skan, or motion of the universe.”

“Most people have a concept of the way of the universe.” Mr. Crocodile laughed. “That the English do not is most telling.” The smile faded. “We do not always understand it, but that does not stop it. ‘Maat is good and its worth is lasting. It has not been disturbed since the day of its creator. It lies as a path in front even of him who knows nothing.’”

“Ptahhotep,” Hawk said.

Mr. Crocodile nodded. “He was one of our greatest philosophers.”

They flew on in silence as Hawk looked out the window. The city of Crocodilopolis sprawling out below them and a few villages beyond.  "And here we are," Mr. Crocodile said.  "I must go to the temple of Sabik and then will see you later."

"After a while, Crocodile," Hawk said.  Mr. Crocodile made no response.