Ghost Lion Crag wilting lotus

She too takes the time to shake out her pelt, dust motes soaring high into the air -- her eyes fall upon the man as he speaks. Rexxar. The word is unfamiliar and so she does not attempt to repeat it, though the edge of her mouth quirks with an ironic smile. Her own name is much more difficult, the Regent suspects. "Hatshepsut," and she aches to put her titles to follow.

But this is not a place of titles; the woman pauses to take this Rexxar's reaction before one gold-hued ear flicks and she presses on, determined to discover what it is she wishes to find. He is welcome to follow if he so chooses.