Otatso Wetlands maybe when the stars arrive

He seemed unsure, and his thirst was palpable. The man's words granted him an ever-cooling stare from the Regent; she did not care for his game. It was juvenile, and below the station that his body commanded. Nevertheless, she was no stranger to such foibles. "Then I would have the name by which you go today," Hatshepsut amended, a low, humorless curve bowing her mouth for a sliding moment.

In turn, she did not trust him; he wore a scent she recognized as that of that pack that would drive a capable man such as Njal from its borders. Such an infraction, even if Hatshepsut did not know the extent of each story's side, had immediately hardened her heart against the creatures of the Creek. The man before her was no exception.

The Egyptian waited.

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