Meadowlark Prairie Call me anytime you can see the lightning

Stupid, foolish woman! she berates herself, testing her weight upon the ankle. It has not been damaged, thankfully -- only a mere sprain that will result in a limp, she assumes. However, Hatshepsut does not have time to ponder this, for the man looms above her, hunger mounted upon his features and irritation in his eyes.

The woman backs away gingerly; now is not the moment for her usual cool implacability. And yet here is an option before her; the wolf is of a pack, and she herself is starving. Pride wars within her against the need of her body -- would she submit to  a man if it meant that she could be saved?

"I am not so wretched as I seem," the Egyptian speaks, her tone carefully modulated. "You have the scent of a pack upon you. Please --" the word burns her very mouth with shame -- "tell me what I must do to join." Hatshepsut turns her eyes to the earth as she speaks, if only to keep the rage that ignites within her from being seen. And yet there is a true desperation here; the insects of the dirt and the occasional morsel of flesh will not keep her alive for a handful of days longer.