Lion Head Mesa [mp] love & war

When the Queen speaks of the Gods, it is an honor. Zaahira accepts the fervor with a curled smile. I hope so.
She is invited forth, and the aspwoman cautiously leans closer with a ginger press of a bony shoulder into the gold-woven pelt of the holy one. I am eager to learn more of our Gods, malakti. I do not seek priesthood, but even still, she pauses, heavily. they mean much to me. I am grateful to learn beside you.
She walks in a slow stride, gaze carefully fixed upon the path ahead. Left, right, left, right. And then, a question; and to this, she gives a chortle.
It is Arabic, my mother's language. I do not remember much of it, but there is some. I did not speak at all for a long time. ochre cheeks are pushed upward as her bashful little grin snakes further up her face. Malakti means My Queen. Think of it as my own word of devotion.