at some time soon to come, zaahira would be parting to return to akashingo.
she missed home dearly, as much as she had grown to appreciate the desertland. but she rose now to jodai; she would go where she was most needed by pharaoh. muat-riya was shaping up to become larger than life itself, and it lay now in the hands of eset — something about that cut her with a dull whip of pain.
the halls are oddly quiet and serene. in a room she finds nazli, alone, bathed in soft light seeping from the open ceilings. curiosity overtakes her.
you have done a good job, the sandsoldier gestures toward the intricate details of her mural, the vibrant hues. muat-riya is lucky to have such an artistic priestess.

i am eager to see it, zaahira met the dusky eyes with a soft look of her own, followed by a curt smile. perhaps i will ask you to help me paint some other things, should you ever return to the palace.
the jodai now moves to take a seat beside her, head dipped close to the wall in order to better see the tiny strokes. some do, she quips thoughtfully. some more than others. i myself worship the Eye of Ra.

zaahira mutters a gasp of awe under her breath as her gaze finds the depiction of the wedjat-eye. i am sure They are very pleased, hemet. i believe They will reward you.
she hoped that she, too, would one day find peace beneath Their guidance.
she looks then to the collection of tokens and gifts resting at the altar's base. i have come a long way since i lived in greatwater, her ears pan outward as a lengthy pause settles in. and so have you.
to think that merely three seasons ago she was an uncaged beast! how little common she spoke, how angry she had been at the world for only existing. that woman who crawled to the palace's edge pleading for help was a stranger to her now; a faded memory. and she did not miss her.
akashingo saved me. no amount of repayment would ever be enough.

i do not think either of us did. the statement came with a wry chuckle. i am only glad you were able to escape before the war broke out.
she did not like to think of what could have happened if she hadn't, either.
are you happy as hemet, nazli? zaahira found herself asking. when i followed the false god, it was said that you may feel 'a call'. to preach. i think that one day, perhaps when i am too old to fight, i will retire to priesthood. but i do not know if i feel 'the call'.
and how could she? her purpose was to fight, to train, to protect; but it could only last for so long. one day, age will make her vulnerable. make the palace vulnerable. and she feared it, dreaded it, even now.
do you think we are meant to only serve one purpose?

that is a good way of looking at it, zaahira chuffs quietly. you are a smart girl, nazli. i think you will do great things.
silence followed the pair for a while. there was little else to say or do, little else but appreciate the altar with the grace only a devout servant could offer. a silent prayer is said, whispered in her mind's eye; a prayer for the peace and protection of women.
nazli had come so far. zaahira feared she would need it.
when she takes her leave, she parts with a renewed spirit and the hope that she would one day earn a second more of nazli's time.