Spotted Eagle Mountain there's really no way of winning

So she was not alone in this feeling of betrayal and loss. The Lake was not what she had been led to believe. A brief blip of pity washes over her; Legend was new, fresh blood, had only just dipped her toes in, and she already wanted to leave? Khaba should be shivering down to the bone. 
As Zaahira glares down at the Lake, the place she once quietly worshipped, wrapped in a silken scarf of seaweed and bathing in lukewarm brine; it looks like nothing more than a lake. 
To the Sands they would go, then. She seals their deal with a soft croon and a swift nod. 

When there is mention of a missing lady, Zaahira pauses again. Several have come and left in these past moons, some just as quick as they had arrived. Khaba had built himself a harem of many, and though it had not been her job to keep track, she remembers them all. Perhaps not in name, but in face.
Describe her, she commands, a questioning lilt to the rasp of her voice. Perhaps she was thinking of the giantess, or her Raven, or the young one. Or that small one with the wide eyes, whom she had only caught glimpses of from afar. 

The touch of cold nose to warm cheek is unexpected, but in some way appreciated. With Legend pressed at her side, the taste of Khaba's kiss melts away into something indiscernible. The thought of him used to surge into a full-body ember, but all that remains of it now is hardened ash. 

It's nice to not miss it anymore.