Lion Head Mesa fist & jaw

The job has been done.
If she were lucky, never again would that hemar come to her doorstep, taunt her with false knowledge. The scarlet pearls across her narrow face, and the taste of warm iron lingers on her tongue.
She does not feel guilty, but she feels no need to celebrate, either. The fact that both of the two brothers had come for her, her home, her livelihood, insulted her Queen! 
When Khusobek invites her to the wellspring, she obliges, although she remains silent. Wading into the water, crystal blue now tipped with ruddy crimson, she keeps her distance from him. He orders the fellahin to bathe them, and before she even has the chance to interject, Eset is combing the oiled, dusty fur of her nape.
It feels odd. When she comes here, she asks the fellahin who accompany her to avert their eyes. Was this normal? And to think, she had not felt the touch of a woman since—
Even like this, she is flustered, a rush of blood pooling hot on narrowed cheekbones. You do not have to if you do not wish, she urges, a gentle hum amidst the husky breath that rattles her lungs. I thank you.