Lion Head Mesa down on your knees, you just don't look so tall

A small man did come, but it was not the same. She was resistant at first and showed her nervousness with the flick of her tongue across her exposed teeth, to promise a bite if they did anything untoward. Instead, she was led through the sand.

There, the familiar small man waited. He held himself with an acceptable level of pride that even Zharille found pleasing; it was different from the one other moment she had seen him, although that was many weeks ago and she had a hazy recollection.

She was brooding a moment. Staring him down. Then, averting her eyes and grimacing with the barely-kept rage simmering in her spirit, she spat the name of her offender: Khaba.

The bristle of her spine would be clue enough of her allegiance, in this moment.