She had been born of Amun; she had known no other father. He alone had breathed life into her body, and for that she belonged for all eternity to Him. Amun had given her much, though from Hatshepsut he had also brazenly taken; first her father, fading quickly into the clutches of a malady the priests could not remedy. Her mother, beloved Ahmes, followed quickly; Thutmose had been the only man for whom her heart longed.
But Hatshepsut had not fallen. No, she had risen in their courts and in the hearts of their courtiers, their confidants, their priests. Even her plain, dull brother recognized the fire within his sister, and retreated into bitter plots against her. But their father had granted his savage daughter a blessing beyond the imagining of Karnak; he had elevated her beside him to Regent.
The woman did not smile as she made her way through the grass, choosing her steps with careful dignity. Muzzle lifted to taste the air, and her hackles leapt to attention along her proud, narrow shoulders; There were creatures here, wolves, and they served no god, if the lack of temples, even crude statues, were to be believed.
Presently she halted, sides heaving with an exertion that did not show itself upon her cool features; Hatshepsut raked the meadow with her eyes, and found it wanting.
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