Bramblepoint 'cause I am the [m]aster of maintaining my disguise

Preemptively marking this as mature for sexy times, Sabah is in heat

In the twilight hours, fire had made itself a home in her chest. Sparked by burning embers, she had turned to her bird, and had given him a skull. A simple thing, born of the death of a snake, she watched the kestrel switch it between his talons.

Go. Be back by spring. Find a place, put this there, and return to show the way. 

And once he was little more than a speck on the horizon, Sabah picked herself up, told the first Fellahin she saw that she would be hidden away until the heat in her belly was sated by time, and she descended the Mesa and vanished into the grasses. She did not wish to compete with the coyotes and the queen, all flush with heat-fire. She was no fool, the internal politics of Akashingo were nothing to a guard, even a captain. They could replace her easily. If she even left.

She still wasn’t so sure.

Her path was wandering, scraping across the plain grasses and avoiding the hell out of the Spooky Scary Lady forest, she instead went back the way she had come from that first meeting with Germanicus.

Today, she was not Sabah. She wasn’t Nephele either. She would become someone else, until she was done and would return to Akashingo. The thought of a belly full of children didn’t occur to her, and probably wouldn’t until she had the capacity to think about it more. Now though, she had a thousand other things on her mind, not to mention the thunder of her own heart in her ears.