Two Eyes Cenote spur & point

"rashepses will be pharaoh."

sent to patrol by senmut, of course khusobek had chosen @Zaahira for his companion, and now his voice was sensational with sentiments that would have been treason.

but akashingo had no pharaoh, and so the crocodile only spoke his mind. "the men around him must be handled. he will look to them for power, and they will not yield to the queen. but do you see them around senmut? no. he is only a priest."

and thutmose, well, he would need an army of confidants as well. "perhaps the soldier will bring war." khusobek was not against the prospect. "so tell me, zaahira. who do you choose?"

ooooooh shit

Rashepses brought a frothing, foaming rage to Zaahira. Voiceless was this opinion, even if the man himself clearly knew it as of this point.
Khusobek calls, and the pantheress is quick to come to his side, even as his opening statement cuts her like a jagged knife. Slick and smooth as her stride comes to be even with his; a tired scowl pressed to her sullen features.
She does not answer until she confirms none can hear; and even still, caution is her priority. He is a powerful man, yes, that, of course, seemed to be fact. but it is her choice. Not ours, or that of his men, no?
She stops only briefly to veer toward a bush of sagebrush, a leg hiked. She watches with pupils pricked, snake-like. Do you favor him?

:D

zaahira was angered; it snapped in heated lapping just beneath her skin. he sensed it, felt it. 

he lifted his own leg, and higher, teasing the other mazoi with a slitted glance and shifting hips that crudely waggled his wares;

"it is her choice. so let us hope she chooses well."

khusobek rolled his muscular shoulders. "i favor him the way you might favor a splinter in your paw instead of having it cut off outright," he rejoined in granite tone. "but thutmose is a soldier, too old for her. and senmut; priests are already made of shit. why place shit on a throne?" he laughed, and then sobered.

"put your lot in with rashepses. do not lose before the game is played, zaahira."

Zaahira watches with eyes hard as stone. For a moment, she is impressed, even entranced; and then, she questions why she has ever found herself laying with a creature of his... species.
She supposed this conversation was one reason of many he was bound to stay as mazoi. A meathead indeed.
Her lips straighten to a thin, taut line. Rashepses does not like me. Nor I him. he disgusts me. I do not trust him with our Queen, nor with us, Khusobek. If I must choose any man to take the throne, my favor is with the priest, her pace comes to an abrupt halt as she noses a scent before she continues onward; benign. you know I am a spiritualist myself, yes?

khusobek wished to say that such things were more fitting for women, and so it was no surprise that zaahira shared this in common with senmut. "spiritualist is not priest," he told her. "priests serve the gods, and through the gods they serve themselves."

"think of it this way," eyeing the distancing wheel of a hawk, "prophets and priests made the gods, so they might prey upon the fear of men. who can know the will of a god? not i. not you. what endows senmut with such power?"

the queen? his blood was dirt; for all khusobek felt, senmut was lower than a slave, unfit for the gilded hierarchy of high leadership. "do you favor him or do you favor him?" he mocked her again, albeit lightly (for khusobek.)

Then clearly, you do not know the Gods.
A flash of light flickers across the wildfire eyes of Zaahira before it dims just as quickly as it had appeared. They send messages. They listen, you know. There is good reason we build altars. They heed our words if only you call upon them, she, too, watches the wildbird. for example, I believe goddess Sekhmet sent me to Akashingo for a reason. She helped us win against Greatwater, yes? And Osiris, a breath is stolen from her then, when fellahin Tuna showed me my lover's grave, there were flowers planted. I pray to Him every time I visit. And the last I saw her, there were many more of them. I believe He was showing me that she is safe with Him. The Gods show themselves everywhere. Senmut must be very good at watching.
Bitter is the taste in her mouth, now. Rashepses, Rashepses; a cruel man, a distasteful man; And besides, royal blood or no, he has been here long time. He understands us. He is humble, and direct, and adores our Queen. His palace. And that is what I wish for her to have in a man, and what I wish for us to have in pharaoh.

for her, a grunt spared. not one of dismissal, for khusobek indeed listened. he did not forsake their gods, he simply expected nothing of them. everything he had ever achieved was done alone, in the crocodilian mind.

but zaahira was reverent, her voice calling to mind his lessons, his boyhood home and the drone of the priest's voice. and so he lowered his head, but refused to yet be defeated,

"humility does not protect a kingdom. adoration is not passion. she will want more, she will become frustrated with a passive man at her side." lovers. khusobek heard the pain curled alabaster again the side of zaahira's throat, and its echo in him was for hatshepsuun.

but the argument was over, ended. "if he is not chosen he may revolt. prepare for it. you might try to pry his men apart, gently. they worship him, not the queen. he is their god."

Bored? It seemed, to him, that he did not know Toula at all. Did he take her for an arrogant tool who desired power and glory? She knew not of pharaoh past, but what she did know was the good, genuine soul of Toula; voice of the Gods, heart of her people. I do not think she seeks a tyrant who bullies her people, either. Do you?
But he is done with the debate, and she notices. If that happens, you will be listening to my command when we go to battle. her own tease, a laughter concocted of breath ringing from her throat. Unless you leave us to go join his crew of... chucklefucks. Savages.

"i have known many queens but only one pharaoh," was the crocodile's idle rejoinder. "he is that way because he is arrogant, because he has not seen her, because surely he knows the palace bows only for a lineage not his own."

"mark me, jodai," and here khusobek's ears flicked with interest, a genuine wry approval in his eyes, "do not discount the charisma of a new man. i watched him command senmut's lover and caress her openly," he exaggerated, though a good deal of it was indeed true.

The Gods will turn their heads away from him, I feel it, her ears twitch, agitated; a flurry of auburn against the pale sea of sand around them. when he lists the sins not committed before Osiris, he will be silent. a laugh, then, dry and sardonic.
He speaks of Legend as if she is a common whore. She knows what she is doing, she retorts. he is trying to win favor. He will not succeed. not if Zaahira had anything to do with it.
Silence, a while; frankly, discussion of Rashepses was beginning to build a scream of rage within her lungs that may or may not have eventually been released in the face of Khusobek. The cold-stone eyes sunken into a sea of soot stare at her, taunt her; Do you ever pray to Them?

"every boy says his prayers," khusobek growled. he did not understand why he found sport in rousing her, only that the fervent light in her eyes struck a long-dead chord in him. the taste of life, of work in good companionship.

which he stood to lose if he continued, but he could not help the pressing. he loathed priests; he did not intend to bow to one.

yet for now khusobek spared zaahira, more interested in whatever of the gods her priestly little heart meant to utter. "every guard has his patron." how could she be so convinced of a man's failings?

But not every man does, the ghost of a smile finds her lips; turned upward at the edges and glittering. you should open your heart more often to Them, Khusobek. I think you will be amazed at what They may do for you. But you think it is beneath you, yes? You are big, burly man, you do not bow to sky people! her forelegs kick outward as she hops exaggeratedly in mockery. But They watch. And They listen.
The implicit fact of Khusobek is that he does not understand her. The implicit fact of men is that they judge; they preach and they demand worship, they cut and they bite and expect forgiveness. Maybe you will have to look at Rashepses through my eyes, yes? See a man, one who crawls into your home and rips it up before you, and then claims godhood. And demands you bow to him with no throne to kneel before. she pauses to chuff at the scorpion skittering along the sands in front of her; what a metaphor. He is a manchild. The last Akashingo needs is any more of those.

she mocked him, but the crocodile bore it in stride. his eyes too were upon the scorpion for a moment, how easy it would be to crush beneath his paw. and perhaps in bitterest irony, this was what zaahira meant, even if khusobek refused to admit it.

"it is not beneath me to worship the gods. i am simply not a man like that priest precious to you," the mazoi grunted, and now he took some minutes to himself, contemplative.

"rashepses will make himself what is needed," at last he said. "it is the duty of princes. let us make a wager," he added, and now turned his eyes toward her. "on who she chooses."

Precious was hardly a word Zaahira herself would have chosen to describe the relationship she held with Senmut. He was better than others, yes; and he held not her ire, and if he were to place himself rightfully upon the throne, she would heed his word.
But her loyalty, ultimately, at its depths, lied elsewhere.
I will not wager, she scoffs, again pausing to leave her mark in the sands where she felt it necessary. but I will pray. The Gods will look out for us.
She did not need a priest to tell her that much.

"bah!" khusobek said, bellicose. "you are not fun, zaahira."

idle words; had he a drinking cup he would have dumped it across the sands and tied it at his belt. "you pray. i will collect fine things."

khusobek gave an amused jerk of his chin toward zaahira, turned sharply, and stalked away.

<3333

I know you are, wry, wry little smile. but what am I?
He did not linger, and nor did she. Her patrol would be finished alone; at some point, she would cross paths with a particularly rowdy desert bird which results in a ruffle of her own feathers.
Before she returns to the pass, she finds time to pray.

O Sekhmet, whose flame is well-respected among mankind!
Who causes her flame to rise. Preserve the Living Image, the Queen! Protect her and deliver her from the pestilence of the year which reigns in the land, for she is the Divine One who is indestructible!