Lion Head Mesa know me broken by my master

It is not. But you did not ask, she quips, eyes of tangerine now locked on the terracotta below her feet. He did not ask. Nor did he probably care. So why did she feel the need to tell him?
But even still, she does not hesitate. She tells him of everything; Khaba's strong arms that plucked her right from the Blackfeather. Selena. The gold-gilded stranger and how he caused the cracks within Greatwater's structure to rift and rumble. Khaba's accessory — or more akin to demanding — of Selena's murder. How Zaahira tried so hard to defend her against the young nighthawk. How it didn't work. Legend, and the swell of confidence she gave her to leave.
And by the end of it, her accent slips. Word salad that hardly forms coherent sentences, the tension like a springtrap within the muscles of her face and body. Rotten, rotten, rotten. I hate him.
Breath in, breath out. Breath in, breath out.
She finds her composure within the soft touch of her paw to his wrist.
My God died with her. I pray Osiris helps me.