Lion Head Mesa Cross the gold

There the little imp goes. Her mouth opens and jabs at his ego yet again with her insistence on her less than pleasant nickname for him. And as though she had rung a bell, she receives his attention. With a twitch of his ear, he brings himself to flatly correct her. Briar. Briar Cayde.

The guardian takes charge of the conversation and his attention is drawn to her. Her pride evident before she speaks. There is a falter to the steeled expression he wore. She speaks of palaces, divinity, and of queens. Two-toned eyes drifting towards the red structure. 

Akashingo?

Briar knew nothing of palaces and queens. What he knew of divinity he distanced himself from. But if it housed wolves, there would be water and shelter. And for all the water that the imp did ultimately present to him, the sun had broken him. When he looked back to Zaahira, he didn't reassemble the mask he had guarded himself with when she had first approached. Allowing his weariness to peek through the cracks.

I just seek respite. I am burned, dehydrated, and exhausted. I would like to rest away from the sun before I continue my departure from the desert. He dipped his head to her. If I need to be received by your queen for such a request, then I would be grateful for her counsel.