Lion Head Mesa And scratch the slate

Her eyes widened, slowly but definitely, as he spoke. In all her life, had she been so treated? But her muscles still ached, her body exhausted, and the effort to do anything more than let the grime dissipate in the water seemed herculean.

That. . .sounds nice, Maegi murmured, allowing him to draw near. It was quiet here; even her whispers seemed to echo off the nearest walls, surrounding her in a gentle susurrus. 

Her head didn't hurt so much, and even Sheogorath was silent. There was a magic to this place; Pharaoh had chosen it well.

What are the fellahin? she asked, gaze following the man as he moved. So much about her host and his culture she did not know, but was inclined to learn. Not quite curious, or eager, as of yet. Eagerness, it seemed, had died long ago.

But all she knew were questions.