Mount Apikuni fog of war

and she sees it.

that olive branch, the moment of deferral. it soothed her after the ugliness of a spoiled pharaoh. this young woman is somewhere between her and makono, she thinks.

why did treva suddenly feel so old in the face of confident youth?

she smooths herself out, position still stiff even as she softens her more aggressive features.

what are you doing here?

as if treva had any claim or power to ask here! she wanted to weep, she wanted to laugh.