Lion Head Mesa know me broken by my master

A red skinned plant. Zaahira makes note of this with a nod. It is not something she had ever heard of, but she is hopeful no less, ducking beneath the shadows along the sandstone walls of the catacombs. She is quiet, only responding with absent vocalizations, until he speaks of himself.
A bad teacher. A bad priest, no less. Akhtar seldom shows emotion, but there is a twitch in the muscle of his shoulder that indicates there is more to that story than he lets on. She is not sure how exactly to respond to this, but her gaze is soft as dough; perhaps Akhtar would notice it.
Do you know why I come to Akashingo, Akhtar? she asks, then, a downward twinge to her features. Why I speak to Osiris?