Lion Head Mesa kenamun ☆

for one night she will rest, and in the morning those of muat-riya would depart again.
as nazli tries to settle upon the furs, she finds she is unable to relax. she asks of the fellahin to bring some things.

milk thistle in water.
blackstone; hidden within the catacombs.
red reeds, as incense.

when these were gathered to her, she gave thanks and again was secluded.

the vessel of clouded thistle was poured carefully until half-empty, and then dabbed with reeds, which were then set standing, and altogether in the window.

i give a voice offering of fire, oil, and praise,
everything good and pure on which a Goddess lives.
i give to You these gifts, Great Goddess,
i sing Your praises,
and honor You.

a moment to breathe the night air, tasting the familiar scents of the mesa stone and the sun-baked dust, and then nazli tips the incense vessel and with care she paints the residue upon her belly.

her next words break from the heka,
sounding less pious, and more pleading, and heavy with emotion.
please, please, let me have this blessing.

a soft spoken prayer, unintelligible yet recognizable. it's late, but there is never a bad time for prayer — she thinks so, anyways. she couldn't judge either way; she's also up for far longer than she should've. it's not the prayer that gets racharra's attention, but the voice that hums it.

but the noble girl keeps her lips shut as she peeks her head into the temporary chamber of the hemet. the smell of incense wafts into her nose, tempting a sneeze. her nose never took kindly to the smell of it, no matter how relaxing she tried to convince herself it was. but it's sacred, so she'd have to deal with it more often than not.

now at the arch of the bedroom, a plea trembles out from nazli and racharra hears it clearly. a blessing? what could she need? is she that worried about the travel back to Muat-riya? the milk thistle smears across the blue belly of the hemet from the reed, highlighted only by moonlight. and the nebet is left bewildered as to what it could possibly mean.

i need those spiritualist/missionary threads, i hope im not too late

 can't live without the trust from those you love

always happy to write with you!!

she wanted so badly for the blessing to take root, for Nwt to hear her, for the heka to be powerful even if she doubted herself and her own ablities. she would plead and plead, if given the chance. nazli was already thinking of how best to appease the Great Goddess, either here or in her own temple once she returned to muat-riya.

so focused was she, nazli had not noticed she had been caught in this vulnerable moment until it was too late.

although racharra has not made a sound, the sense that someone else is present draws nazli's attention. at first she thinks it might be Nwt incarnate! but she knows better than to expect such a direct manifestation. still, there is a hopefulness in nazli as she takes notice of racharra standing near the door and then it becomes surprise, embarrassment—all manner of things.

oh, nebet, she quickly hides her belly and the oil that she has anointed it with; in her haste she knocks the reeds over, spilling fragrant herbal oils upon the bedspread.

the hemet hadn't noticed racharra, but she attempts to break the silence the hemet finally whips around. in a panic, nazli tries to erase all traces of her blessing and all of her preparations spill out onto the floor.

oh dear-! despite rushing in and yanking the pelt in an attempt to save it from the oil, it was too late. racharra still attempts to pat it down, pelt caught tightly between strong canines.

am shorry! she manages through the pelt, her ruddied ears flat against her skull. the rescue futile, the nebet is forced to let go of the pelt for now. speaking breathlessly, she rushes to dawn the pelt over her shoulders — maybe if they bathed it in one of the lakes it would be fine.  i'll get a fellahin to clean it, i'm sorry. i didn't see anything..! racharra pauses to steady her breathing before straining. i just thought i heard someone speaking.

how foolish!
the oil saturated the furs even while racharra tried to help; they were ruined! there was no way to remedy this except to dispose of the furs and hope for new ones; and while nazli knew this (truly she was horrified to have done such a heinous thing while visiting akashingo) her focus remained upon her belly, and on racharra, and on the embarrassment burning inside of her for being discovered.

she gives a sigh and shakes her head. no, no, there is nothing to be done. about the furs, anyway. the hemet hurries to set the incense upright again, although without the oil there is no use for it. another thing to be thrown out.

i was... praying. nazli went on to admit once things were back in their place. she looks sheepishly to the furs, then out the window to the open sky with its many stars. asking, rather. asking Nwt for a blessing. but i suppose i got my answer.
her eyes trace racharra's, and she's smiling as if there is some small joke between them, and as she looks away again there is a sadness in the dark of her iris.

the fate of the pelt is sealed. racharra hesitates, but relents and lets the pelt slip off her shoulders. a pity. i'll take responsibility for the pelt. it isn't your fault. solemnly, she sits, sneaking a glance at her stained belly. her eyes return to nazli, and she leans in before whispering her question.

what kind of blessing, if i may ask.. or am i prodding in too much.. but then suddenly she shakes her head.
actually, no no. i've already caused trouble for you because i was being too nosey. nevermind, i'm sorry for ruining your prayer.. the incense attracts her eye now, too guilty to look nazli in the eye. after the hemet helped her with her own woes too..

i'm sure Nwt will hear you, though. and then the nebet breaks from her slouch.
and if i pray for you? to her?

racharra is sweet for making such offers! nazli is flooded with a sisterly warmth, but she cannot abide the nebet being blamed for something that isn't her fault; besides that, nazli is overtaken by a mixture of gratitude and despondency when considering the prayer—if Nwt chooses not to bless one of her most heartfelt hemet, why would She listen to anyone else?

the girl has questions; she is quick to recant them, which for a moment nazli is grateful for, but she finds she wants to talk about it. even if it does not feel appropriate. i... i was praying for... healing, i suppose. perhaps that was why it would not work? nazli needed so much from Nwt; but the Great Goddess could see in to her heart, certainly, and make sense of all that she felt!

it was a prayer—for children. her face burned now with such warmth! i do not think it is something you can help with. but i thank you, you are kind to offer.

racharra nods along. healing, for what? she doesn't know. nazli seems pretty healthy to her.
but then the mention of children rings in her ear, and racharra joins the hemet in her embarrassment.

you're pregnant? and sick? spring lust claims even the holiest, most precious of hemets it seems. she glances at nazli's belly. but nazli is as thin as always. if she's expecting and feeling so sick she needed prayer she'd be as round as the moon itself.

and then, in her breath. as quietly as she could possibly manage, racharra fearfully asks. who's the father?

racharra jumps to a hopeful conclusion!

oh, n-no, um, nazli fumbles, and she feels a twist in her belly, as if her womb itself is screaming.

i... was very sick. there was a time that tavina treated me, and then some healers far away. she had only ever told khusobek of the specifics and now was careful; she did not need to, or want to, wallow.

and now i pray to Nwt to do what they could not. i want, more than anything, to be a mother one day. but... it might be impossible. and that was a stinging truth.

i..i see. the girl sits on nazli's words for a minute, the weight of them silencing her.

i'm sure Nwt will hear you. it cannot be impossible, i hope. marigold gaze returns to the belly. this must mean quite a bit to the hemet. she'll pray for her, regardless. it's only right. she doesn't have her circlet on her, but perhaps if she speaks to it then Nwt would allow her most loyal priestess just a chance.

or else she truly would live in a cruel world where ogresses are allowed to abandon and hurt their daughters, while better mothers yearn for children but are denied it.

for what it was worth, nazli appreciated all that racharra said, and would accept all the prayers she could gather. it was kind of the nebet, and for the first time nazli sees her not as a noble but as a young girl, naïve certainly, but hopeful and sweet in a way that nazli used to be. the next time she prayed for herself she would add racharra's name with the hope that life would not chip away at that sentiment she carried.

i must hope. i must trust in Nwt. the priestess bowed her head as she said the name of the Great Goddess, closing her eyes briefly in reverence to her, and when she opens them again she is smiling softly while her gaze travels to the length of ruined bedfur.

do you ever think about it? you are young—and i know how people talk here in akashingo; marriage this, diplomacy that. spreading the influence of our pharaoh— she watches the girl now for recognition of these things, whether she has an opinion one way or another, or perhaps the same interest in motherhood somewhere in her future—but yes, she is still a girl.

it was different before our toula. better now, i think.

nazli speaks of putting her faith within her goddess, and racharra affirms it with a nod. she'll have faith in Nwt too.

the topic flows into marriage, children, and racharra's opinions on them, and while she bumps her head along, racharra is faced with the same conundrum as always. what does she think, what does she want, and what does she feel.
and is any of it true.

i'm sure it is. racharra's fortunate then for toula to be pharoah. perhaps her marriage would've already been decided, or she would not even be nebet. a fellahin, which would've been fine if it's with toula, but under a different rulership it might've just been a punishment. if toula is the gentle warmth of a sunny day, then all those that came before her must've been the heat that threatens to take all that dare lie beneath it under the summer sun.

well.. marriage and motherhood.. it's a little daunting, isn't it? marigold eyes drift away from nazli, and turn to the oil stained bed. it could've easily been blood from birth, or after consumating a marriage. even if it's cleaned, it'd always carry the memory of such an event. but for now, it carries the memory of a disturbed prayer. i think it can be lovely.. it'd be lovely, but.. i think people are too quick to jump on it. she thinks of all the pregnant wolves to the visit to the moon village, and apparently one of the muat-riya fellahin was blessed with a litter this year. soon, her heart sinks, toula would too.
ah, this isn't to judge you for wishing for it, i just.. i just wonder if it's worth all the risks for myself. and those of previous litters left for new children, what happens to them?

it is unfair to ask for deeper truths when the girl is still so young, thinks nazli. she only wants to be present and attentive, to be useful, and listens to the way racharra speaks of these things as any priestess might; this room was a confessional as much for herself as it was for the nebet.

it is clear she is not prepared for marriage, and that is right. her opinion of it mirrors what nazli feels in her own heart. it should not be decided by anyone else; it was not to be decree'd by anyone except maybe the Gods, should they take an interest. better to know oneself first, and well, before seeking anything more.

as for children, nazli witnesses a deeper understanding than perhaps racharra means to expose.

i have not seen anyone abandoned, here. i remember growing up with one Crown Prince, and then tending to the Queen when our beloved Toula was born; the sisters shared only half-blood through their Divine Father, but they were loved. they were cherished, even. and they were close. but that was the story of akashingo, and nazli wondered about the origin of the nebet; she who was born to greatwater and held the blood of a giant.

some mothers should not have been mothers, nazli voices, her face becoming tense a moment. a thin smile creeps upon her face, and her dark eyes look almost hollow. and sometimes it is better to choose one later in life. like i have done with tavina; she has always been my mother, although she did not birth me. if she were to ever have sons they would be my brothers, and her daughters would be my sisters—and i think she knows this.

nazli tried to reach out then, to touch racharra's shoulder gently. you do not need to have all of these answers now.

a slight correction was needed. ..i do not mean just here. she mumbles, and refuses to elaborate any further. she agrees with everything else, but remains quiet as nazli explains to her. the nebet only returns to meet the hemet's gaze when her dainty paw caresses racharra's shoulders, having not realized just how tense she was until nazli's paw soothes it.

but i do. i do need to know. i have too much to learn, and if i don't learn it now within the safety of the palace then when will i? ..thank you, for explaining.
racharra trembles out a sigh, and squints her eyes. how heavy they felt from the weight of everything, how badly she wished to sleep peacefully. but she has one question of her own for nazli.
what does love mean to you? if i'm to marry, i'd like to know it when i feel it.

*cracks knuckles* awright lets see how well my dissociative ass can identify love

what does love mean to you?

oh; this was a loaded question. for a moment nazli withdraws her touch, she's stricken, slack-jawed for a breath before collecting herself. well, it... it is different for everyone. and there are so many kinds.

but racharra wanted to know about romantic love, surely? the hemet considered the best way to explain this.

for me, love is... being seen.

it is not just acknowledgement; it is not praise for good work, or compliments. i know i am loved because i am known on such a... a deep level, i suppose is the best way to put it. it felt like too much to explain; this was certainly something to be felt, and racharra would one day experience it, nazli was certain.

she was a lovely girl.

it is the feeling of waking up and feeling safe.
it is the trust shared between two people, the kind that takes away the need for words.
the yearning to be with someone, even if it means being silent together, or singing together, or dancing; just being there.

she had begun to wax poetic! her face burned and she loosed an awkward little laugh, shaking some of the tension from ehr shoulders; her forelock bouncing. it is hard to describe, but when you feel it, you—feel it. there is nothing else that compares. you will know it when it is time.

nazli thought now of @Senmut with such a warmth that she was positively radiant.

LMFAO

the nebet would not pry, but something tells her that nazli might know a little too much about love.

racharra makes a slight noise.
you'll know it when you feel it.
"but if i never feel it, what am i to do!"

an internal war wages. all she wants is for things were a little less vague. but the way nazli describes it is beautiful, she wishes to bask in it. if only racharra could touch it, maybe then she'll be convinced. why couldn't she believe in those intangible feelings the same way she could believe in her gods without needing their presence?

i hope the time comes soon. the girl pouts. she'll have to consult Hathor after Nwt. perhaps the gods will give her a more foreward answer, one that mortals could never be able to succintly describe.

thank you. this time, it is racharra who reaches for nazli. the nebet cups one hand of the hemet with her own, and pats it.
it's.. getting late, i think we should both rest. i hope Nwt hears your prayer, if not today then one day. i have faith she will.

the hemet gives the customary bow to the nebet as thanks is given, wanting to assure her that there was nothing to worry about—but she was young, she would worry. she was pining after a feeling she was still too young to bother with; that was nazli's deepest thought on the subject.
she wished she had been spared some of the so-called love she had been granted in her life.

have a good night, nebet racharra. she murmurs to the taller figure, escorting her to the entry and smiling as she goes off down the hall.

once alone, nazli looks back to the oil-stained bedfur and takes a deep breath, tasting the incense and hoping it wasn't also the taste of failure.