Otatso Wetlands maybe when the stars arrive

She had bathed, but perhaps the scent of the Nordic man was more pervasive than previously believed. The faux smile fading from her lips, the Regent straightened her posture, gathering herself in one graceful movement to her haunches. Lapis eyes bored with icy calm into the face of the male. "I am not a fan of games," she instructed her companion in a voice of silk.

While the Egyptian kept tension from lacing her body, the Creek wolf's aversion of her requests had angered her. Though he had not a moment's inkling of who it was he spoke toward so flippantly, Hatshepsut was loathe to remain in a place that harboured such creatures.

And yet pride kept the desert wolf rooted — she had garnered for herself this patch of ground before the male had arrived, and would have viewed it as a personal weakness to move away from the man, if only to escape his irksome question.

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