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He looked well. Better than he had before. He appeared stronger today than he had a week ago when last she had come to visit with him. A miniscule victory, and certainly not one capable of luring her down the avenue of false hope as it had done in times before. Though it had been a matter of several years since fate had deemed it suitable to strike him ill, the frailty that had brittled his bones and siphoned the majority of his once considerable vitality still set the Egyptian woman's teeth on edge, her jaw framed by a stony, harsh line. How was it that this literal beast of a man had been fated for such detrimental ills while the likes of Donald Trump was permitted to remain as healthy as a fucking burnt-orange ox (the hair: who wore it better)? Who the fuck was in charge of that horse shit?