Cinna had never truly liked the Domus Publica, the official resident of the Pontifex Maximus. He didn't like the dank, vault-like enclosure, modest garden... but here he was. Again. Pontifex Maximus once more.

He sat, straight backed on a wooden chair. A watcher might have seen a light smile on one side of his face. He clapped his hands three times, and a servant appeared with ink and paper.

Bright yearning for the morning light,
Steel-tiped wings poised for flight,
But hestitate but a slight,
Flash of fury, frozen tight.