Lion Head Mesa پنهان snake in the grass

Feeding these creatures should have brought some kindness out of Jawahir; yet they could not stop thinking of the previous children they had fed with their body.

That their milk had gone to the royal bastards instead of their own offspring was infuriating. Knowing that their perfect figure was now distorted by their previous pregnancy caused resentment within the hebsut, further distilled as they looked upon the children of the broken-faced nebet.

The stillness of the catacombs was broken by the sound of children feeding. The sounds of suction were faint but enough to further annoy Jawahir; but that was not all. Somewhere in the dark and winding corridors of the catacombs was a familiar twinkling sound. Jawahir's tall ears tracked its approach with minor twitches.

Who walks these halls? The jewel demands of the darkness, speaking without care to their own volume. For a moment the children are disturbed and the fellahin feels a wetness spreading warmly against their own underside as well as the squeal of a babe.

With a frustrated huff, Jawahir moves to tuck the offending child closer so that they may re-latch, and grimaces to the feeling as it happens. Their voice is low as it tumbles from them again: Oh, don't complain. Eat and be quiet.