Hideaway Strath giza

"Ye 'ave done something nae many can manage zese days," the silver doe murmured when his words had concluded and she was left wishing they hadn't. She was somewhat pleased that it only sounded slightly begrudging. "Ye 'ave surprised me," she admitted with the beginnings of a bemused smile, chuckling quietly beneath her breath as she gave a shake of her head. When Ramesses spoke of his gods, it was easy to forget the animosity of their interactions. She yearned to ask, to hear more but held her tongue as the reminder of how he felt about slaves flitted through her mind.

"I vill zink on zis," she promised and she would. The Priestess would remember his words, how they dripped from his tongue like gilded droplets -- like jewels brought from his homeland. "But fer now, I must prepare my own den. I zank ye again fer ze butterflies an' ze vords about Ma'at," the midwife inclined her pale crown to him in a grateful bob, waiting to hear his parting words -- if he had any -- before she moved to gather up the gift and make her exit. It was not a lie, she did truly have a whelping den to ready for her future children. 

Before picking up the winged offerings and departing, Aerin cocked her head, considering, and suggested: "Ye might consider speaking vith @Vein, my 'usband, about gods. 'e knows of many zings."