Lion Head Mesa (ap) sympathy butters no parsnips

The air was cooler as they dropped down below ground, and Ruenna was already feeling better with the sounds of the public beating muted. She would follow Jawahir into the wellspring, neck craning to take in the scenery. 

"Why are you the favorite of Ramessess?" Whoops. She probably shouldn't have asked. She probably didn't want to know. Ramessess had already hinted at the purpose of the fellahin, and Ruenna was an intuitive woman. 


 "..Does Satsu also have a favorite?" The questions kept spilling, unbidden. It was those cursed fermented fruits, Ruenna supposed.