Lion Head Mesa If I catch fire then I'll change my aim

The lack of satisfaction stung Medusa more than Nazli's hurt, struck by this rather than any words. Medusa seemed to deflate, a sigh of vexation eking out between her teeth as she frowned at the mongrel girl before her. A mongrel who somehow belonged here more than she herself felt that she did. 

Was... Had there been any satisfaction to scrape against the wound, and feel the corner of it lift? Even knowing it might do more harm than good, Medusa decided that this feeling, miserable though it made her, was far better than nothing at this hour. That was a start, right? Better than anger, better than numb. 

Medusa lifted her head, huffing. You dare, she pressed, pretending to be a protector of Pharaoh, of anything and anyone but for herself because any with their wits would know that to have this conversation was to have no sense of self preservation. Dangerous! Too dangerous!

Some of that knowledge rang like alarm bells in her head. Her voice was quieter still as she hissed, you pilfer her stores. I would not believe you, were you to deny your rumors. I have caught you, and you think to lie to my face? 

Medusa snorted, but said past an irate sigh, I will not tell the truths that we know to any other. Because you will owe me. I will protect you, if you will protect me, an olive branch extended. 

Misery loved company. Medusa did not know if she could endure her own loneliness, oppressing as its was. Maybe that was what it was.