Lion Head Mesa Days fade into a watercolor blur

Nazli's dreams were full of fanciful things, mostly iconography she could not make sense of, objects and scents - and blood, which frightened her.

When she woke she was somewhere new.

@Akhtar was there, tending to some incense or preparing for the morning rituals; the sun had not yet risen, then. She saw his silhouette and felt immediately improper.

Unsure if she should speak or even move, she thought about faking her sleep a little longer - and found herself staring.

The priest rose, but it was unhappily.

The princess, the unruly girl, she threatened tradition in every way imaginable. He had never subscribed to the rigid gender of royalty, but even he knew that to do this was to scour the court and the other royals.

This was not even to mention the newest children. What of them, when they grew? Would Makono decorate the steps of the palace with their blood as she had the horse? Leave them strewn on the floor in her childish bid for a power she believed she understood?

Foolish.

He respected it.

Akhtar was organizing his things when the fellahin girl woke. He offered her a thin, reedy hum.

You are awake. He spoke, voice guttural with alcohol and his own hangover.

Did you sleep well?

She thought she had succeeded a moment, then he spoke and Nazli felt her body go taut, her heart in her throat!

Yes, sir, she murmured meekly from beneath the coverlet. The furs were warm and cozy in a way few fellahin would ever experience (certainly alone as she was; but none had shared with Nazli what happened to those who caught the lustful eye of pharaoh yet).

Gradually she nosed her way out from beneath the furs and watched the man's sharp back, and bowed head.

Senmut said... this would be alright. I can go, also, if... Am I disturbing things? She felt so out of place here!

He gave a little chuckle.

I fear for my reputation if you believe I would harp over furs. He looked over his shoulder at the lilac-grey girl, raising a brow.

You are quite alright. I find that a sleep on the floor does wonders for a post drinking body. In that the aches in his body overtook the aches in his mind.

There was humor to this man.

Nazli was not often around people with mirth enough to jest; Makono was sometimes funny in her way, derisive of others or catty as any girl could be, and Nazli loved her for it. Otherwise, those of Akashingo were serious in nature. She found she liked the warmth within the hems voice.

I was very tired. Not drunk, though. She had never once tasted a sour berry - though this man sounded well versed in the affects.

Is that what causes such... light-heartedness? Those drinks. She remembered suddenly, the many graphic sounds within the hall from that night and felt her face grow hotter.

Akhtar nodded.

Yes. Drinks do that to you, though at your age it is probably best to avoid them. I doubt it would do anything good for your growth. He said, his tail flipping over on itself to face the other way as he moved something to one side.

He paused.

He had quite forgotten what he was organizing.

Im not surprised you were tired though. Last night was…

A technicolor blur where everything was both perfect and hellish and someone killed a horse.

Interesting.

Nazli quietly slipped from the bed, trying her best not to mess up the furs further than how they'd already been moved about, and took a moment to try and tidy them after. She forgot to tend to her own living furs, which stood at all angles.

Last night was... interesting. The priest murmured, staring off in to space as Nazli came up beside him. She peered respectfully upon the objects he was organizing and saw no rhyme nor reason to them, but said nothing.

Frightening, she admitted; no doubt they thought of the same moment. Unexpected, she offered next, and then went quiet with thought.

Akhtar chuckled dryly at that.

Yes, unexpected in many ways. The low kindle of angry flame in his belly scorched the lining of his esophagus in a sudden, violent flare of heat. He swallowed a cough.

In many ways, yes. He shot her a sideways glance.

Makono is your master, yes? How do you feel about her actions?

His eyes traced along her features and so she averted her own, looking upon his collection without comment.

The question made her ears twitch.

It is not my place to question the princess, she answered readily, her voice more sombre than before; but therein betrayed her doubt, and perhaps her fear, of the change she had seen within the girl.