Lion Head Mesa i keep digging myself down deeper

Nazli found herself thankful for the move from one room to another, given how dry and hot the days had become. In the lower corridors of the palace where she used to frequent the air was a touch more mild, and places such as the wellspring were oddly cool, being underground; up in this higher chamber where the light could flood between the stony gaps of the mesa, it was still quite warm, but there was a strong breeze that buffeted through those windows too.
She stood near one of these windows now, blinking and narrow-eyed against the sunlight, while the flux of wind brushed across her face. She could see the sky clearly this way; the blue of it seemed to carry forever. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky to be blustered around.
A flash of movement by the gap —! Some sort of bird winged up the mesa's side, darkening her sickly face with a tenebrous mask. The young woman staggered backwards with a jolt.

A miserable, dreadful heatwave. But one she would soldier through.
Her duties for the afternoon had been done — a morning prayer to Allah Osiris, the starting of a shrine for Sekhmet near the river's bank where Selena lay. A spar in the training grounds, plenty of water and meat. And now, perhaps a visit to the wellspring.
Along the ridgeways and sandstone paths, the blocks of light were blinding, the heat sweltering; a narrowness to her eyes with the sting of mid-July. Mind astir with thousands of thoughts, ones she would have to drown later with bitter berries.
Something brushes against her forearm, a tickle that brings a lift to the leg and a surprised blink. Swiveling her head to look back, she searches for what it was —
She'd seen this woman before. Never had they spoken, but she knew that face; she knew the lavender bloom of her slender back, now ribbed with a showing spine and thinned hips. A plethora of emotions, flashbacks to many, many moons ago when she'd seen this silhouette flutter about the Lake.
She thought she knew her name, too. Nazli?

Perhaps the mazoi had been stationed outside of her private quarters, and moved when Nazli hurried in her frantic way; whatever the case, Nazli did not notice Zaahira until she heard her name spoken, and turned her head sharply.
Nazli breathed, and whatever shakiness she felt from that spectre was contained.

She didn't know this face. Maybe once she had? Zaahira had the rugged quality of the angry giant from the lake (Zharille); that correlation on its own made Nazli a little nervous, and the fluttering of her rabbit-heart was making her dizzy.

Meekly she asked for, Water, please? It was over by her bedfurs, next to the medicines Tavina had left for her that day.

Oh, the sickening twist of her gut when her stare is met with eyes of ink. Fragile, she is now, pale, gravely sick; she wonders, hopes, that a Sesh has tended to her. Yes, of course, she responds as if she's been given a command, and is quick — frantic — to search for it within her quarters. She feels an odd sense of discomfort, being within her sleeping chamber; such a private place. Even when she sought fellahin to accompany her, she did not dare. But she fetches the bowl and hurriedly places it before her.
She saw no indication that Nazli remembered her. Which, as she thought of it, made sense, and may be for the better. But she cannot help but wonder if she knows of Khaba's fate, his current arrangement; where the rest of Greatwater resides now.
She sits beside her in silence, the concern heavy in her woven brows and tight-lipped frown. Why are you here, she wanted to ask, but that felt wrong, so instead, she lands on asking: When did you come to Akashingo?

In a flash, the water is before her. She looks at it and seems to sink in to the floor, puddling beside it, before taking a sip. The mazoi sticks close, and when Nazli is able to she tries to answer the question.
She isn't sure, and her answer reflects that: a shrug of those sharp shoulders.
I don't remember it well. Another sip, and she starts to feel better. But I've been here... a few days? Miss Tee — uh, Tavina, has been minding me. She didn't mention Senmut, whose quarters were only a few steps along the corridor opposite, given that her bedfurs often smelled of him; the erpa-ha visited often.
You're... familiar. That wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. When did you...?

A few days, she says, and Zaahira connects the dots herself. She must have left before the cracks in Greatwater's foundation had burst.
She watches carefully as she finally resigns herself to taking gentle laps from the bowl. Zaahira nudges it closer. You are ill, she whispers, a tenderness to it.
And then, there it is: you look familiar.
Swallowing, her gaze is cast outward to the view of the billowing dunes from the nearby window. My name is Zaahira. I was a member of Greatwater Lake, our old pack. Was. I came to Akashingo a few weeks before the war broke out. You were lucky to not have to witness what had happened. You missed a lot. a twinge of sardonicism in that, a curl to her lip that could have been a smile. You did not know me. But I saw you, a few times.

A war?

Nazli had questions, but didn't know how to ask. Beyond that, she was dizzy and had to focus on what Zaahira went on to say, so she lost her train of thought.

I... I'm sorry. And there was genuine remorse in her voice.

To touch on something more cheerful, hopefully, she shifts the conversation. But you're here now. Are you... happy? Do you like your work? Once, that's how Nazli had been.

She offers condolences, and at that, Zaahira shakes her head. Akashingo reigned victorious. Khaba is now a prisoner, a girlish giggle, as if they were gossiping teens. can you believe it? Oh, it is crazy, how much life has changed. But, a polite smile; nearing bashful, even. I am happier here than the Lake ever could have made me. The Hemet-nekheb is very sweet, very good. I am proud to serve her now, as a mazoi.
An idle drag of her paws across the sandstone floor, pointed ears falling to the sides of her head. Why did you leave the Lake? and then, with a thoughtful pause; Did you ever... like it there? because Zaahira had begun to question whether or not she ever did.

Khaba was here? This came as a shock to Nazli and for a moment her expression betrayed her. She managed to temper herself after-the-fact and wasn't sure if Zaahira had taken notice. She could remember the escape from the palace that fateful night - and living at the lakeside, on-edge. Hopefully her friend fared well, even if he was locked away against his will! Nazli was mortified.

Zaahira had other questions and it took Nazli a second to catch up, and then her answers held a distracted, lightly distressed tone.

I... had to go. The lady of the lake, the one Khaba favored so much, was... not what I expected. Besides that, she had been a brutal sort of creature; preying on the halfbreed. I was born here, you know? I'd never... been so far away. It was too hard.

And now look! Khaba a prisoner, herself half-dead, everything changed. Nazli knew she would never entertain the thought of leaving ever again.

Zharille. She means Zharille, and with this realization, she gives Nazli a softened look. You should know, then, that Zharille is within our ranks, too. As are her children. I do not know how long she will stay, if she is permanent or if she plans to return to the Lake once her children are stronger. I have not spoken to her.
She thinks of what little she knew of Zharille — from what she had seen, she was not fond of her, either. Brutish, power-hungry, prideful; she and Khaba were made for each other, in the end.
What do you know of the war's circumstances, Nazli? a genuine question, but one twinged with a sense of interrogation. She had noticed her change in expression when told of Khaba's whereabouts. Do you know what he did?

It was chilling, hearing that the beastly woman was here. So far there had been no sign of Zharille or her children in the upper chambers and for that Nazli was happy, and she imagined her new quarters to be safe from invasion or engagement with the likes of that family.

I don't know anything, Nazli went on to admit.

My attempt to strike out on my own only led to... struggle, and... She shook her head at that, unable to continue. Her sallow face spoke for itself.

Nazli was born here, as she had said, and while Zaahira knew not the full context of why she had left in the first place — or the full scope of why the palace sought him — what she did know was what she saw.
Khaba is responsible for the death of one of our former packmates, a flare of nostrils. Selena. If you remember her. a curve to the way she says her name, sorrowful and bathed in bitterness. He ordered a fellow subordinate for her to be punished because she did not attack an intruder with her teeth. And as a result, she died. A clench in the muscles of her toes, a grinding to her jaw.
He stole Zharille's children from her, drove her out when she tried to retrieve them. He formed what I refer to as a harem. I do not know what he was like when you knew him, for the Hemet-nekheb has told me that at one point he was kind. But he had become an evil, evil man, Nazli. He sought power and violence and gore, and it got... so bad after you left. Zharille left around the same time you did, too, and he had just spiralled. She meant not to guilt-trip her, and immediately finds herself in a scrambled attempt at correcting it. I just mean, you missed... a lot. I wish I knew why he is the way he is. He denied any wrong when we challenged him. It was— hard, to see.

And then; You are lucky you got out when you did. But I am sorry you have struggled. I am glad you are home.

Zaahira unloaded a massive list of events that overwhelmed Nazli, and the girl further deflated as she listened. It didn't sound like the Khaba she knew; but, there were some things she recognized from her final encounters with him. Chiefly that he was so attached to Zharille - he had made that choice, and Nazli had accepted it.

To think he would go so far, though?

Nazli felt her heart strain upon hearing about Selena. They had met - she could remember the shadow, and she had been one of the few friendly, talkative members of the group.

It was a lot. Too much, in fact. Nazli shook her head. I... But she had no words, and was stricken by the emotions that now flooded her.

Oh, dear, this poor girl.
I am sorry, that was a lot of information, she reaches out a paw that doesn't quite land upon Nazli's wrist. it is okay. It took me a time to accept it too. she stiffens. How on earth was she supposed to comfort a girl whose fleeting freedom had been a lie, when that was something she herself still grappled with?
Please do not blame yourself. For anything you might be feeling. Trust me when I say that I understand.
Selena.

It wasn't a question of blame.

In her current state of nearly-dead, being barely pieced back together by Tavina, Nazli was weak. She was skin, bones, and a broken heart that now throbbed with a new pain. All Zaahira had managed to do was cause the recovering fellahin more turmoil; but there was no avoiding it.

It's alright, Nazli went on to assuage whatever Zaahira felt after giving the news, and moved her free wrist closer so Zaahira's was effectively sandwiched between her two knobby, bone-like limbs.

It is over. All of it. Nazli swallowed a lump in her throat, looking exhausted. It was time to rest.

But it was not okay.
The dread, the shock, the anguish is painted all over the sunken lilac face of Nazli's. Zaahira herself cannot place what she is feeling — regret for having unleashed so much upon her at once? Pity for a way of life and a friend now lost? Sympathy for a shared struggle?
Everything and nothing all at once.
You should get some sleep, she is gentle with her words, now. I can help you to your quarters, and bring you more water if you would like? I am not a sesh, so there is little I can do. But by no means am I above helping where I can.
Silence befalls her.

It is not far... but yes, a... rest, is all I need.

It was kind of Zaahira to offer so much.

Nazli was slow to rise and lethargic with each step, but with the help of the mazoi for guidance and support, she would soon find herself back among her bedfurs, where she could try and sleep.

No doubt she would doze off, and perhaps she would even dream; hopefully her mind was not plagued too badly by all that they had discussed.