Since her discourse with Njal, Hatshepsut had intended to leave these borderlands and forge her way deeper into the heart of the Wilds. And yet her fickle attentiveness to hygiene and to guarding her honed body against hunger had spoken, and the Regent had been coerced into remaining here another day, to bathe and to eat.
The emerald forest interested her; she would explore part of it before choosing her mountain path, being careful to skirt the collective odor of wolves gathered, as Njal had vaguely warned her of their leader. And while Hatshepsut did not truly trust him — how could she be so foolish, when they had only spoken once? — the grave rumble of his voice had not been deceptive.
Poised, her fur slightly damp from cleansing waters, the lapis eyes came to rest themselves on the trek of a delicate and wholly beautiful creature. Crimson and sunset, the girl was mainly cloaked in the color of finest linen, and she moved with a courtier's grace.
The court of Karnak had been filled with such exotic loveliness as this — dancers, concubines, even wives of lesser nobles. The wolfess wore the stamp of the desert upon her, unmistakable to another denzien of the hotlands, but it was not from the sands of the Regent's home she hailed. "Em heset net Hathor," the Regent called, wending her way across the loam to approach the other confidently. Yes, as she drew nearer, she was lovely, a jeweled lotus flower, and Hatshepsut appraised her coolly. What was she doing here, so far from the luxuries and primping that the role of a doted-upon wife would provide, or a harem?
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