Lestat had been found; the moon-beast would follow her trail under the protection of Nut, and sequester himself during the time of Ra. Eventually the pair of them would travel alongside one another, but for now, the Regent was content to meander in the warmth of the days.

She did not like the sea, though she stood with legs akimbo and eyes fixed upon the roaring rush of foam and salt. Too many wolves had died in such waters, dragged down by the gods who inhabited the depths. She had seen them perish with her own gaze, and they were not memories she wished to relive. The brine stung her eyes, her nostrils, and at length Hatshepsut turned away, paws pressing carefully into the sand.

The crash of the waves masked the approach of a snowy male; had it not been for the glissade of sensation over her shoulders, Hatshepsut would not have turned 'round in time to spot the man wade into the foamy shallows. Lip curled in derision — he seemed to approach with reverence, though she could not hear the words he spoke. Only her eyes beheld his advance into the ocean, and she dismissed him out of hand for his worship of such a murderous deity. Even Sekhmet, in her violence and glory, was a rational being at times. The sea was not.

Now she stood upon the sands to watch, to determine whether or not he would be swallowed by his God, or spat back upon the coast. The seawind tugged briefly with salt tongue at her coat, and Hatshepsut curved her shoulders against it, wishing mournfully for the hot dunes of her homeland.