Lion Head Mesa Oh my heart, it's a rock in the gutter.

It was rare for Jawahir to leave the palace. They had stolen from the catacombs briefly to stretch their legs, find some peace where the sun lived; there, they found the lilac-furred girl that had been born of their own loins.

Foolish girl. She had the whole world spread before her — freedom, if she'd only take the initiative.

Jawahir drew close to where the girl lingered, a plan forming. They waited for the girl's attention to drift the other direction before charging up the hill. Oh! Fur puffed, heart racing, they looked to have been frightened by someone or something. There you are, child.

While Nazli was distracted by the sudden sight of another fellahin, Jawahir gathered a scattering of plant stalks and debris from the dried plants around them, tucking them neatly in to a pile as if they were always there. The lord, he is furious with you. Take these; oh, my, you weren't supposed to meet me out here, I was to come to you! Here, girl, hurry! Take these and go, they are needed by the mazoi at their barracks.

All a lie; but it was fun to wind her up and watch her go.