Phei stood slowly and watched the man kowtow at his feet — because kneeling was the wrong word for it.
Kneeling implied a back still capable of pride...
—What Jonathan Montgomery was doing was older than that. Forehead pressed to the carpet. Palms flat on either side of his head and spine curved into a shape that had nothing to do with anatomy and everything to do with surrender.
Kowtow. Yes, that was the right word.
An it was akin to a kowtow of an emperor's condemned minister.
A posture a civilisation had developed over two thousand years, really, to express that a body was offering itself wholly to whoever stood above it.
Every being of Jonathan held the bow like his life depended on it — spine locked, shoulders pressed down, forehead grinding into the carpet as though he were afraid Phei might think the angle wasn't steep enough.
The obedience of his soul were all expressed to his new Master.
