Lion Head Mesa culture shock

And the fellahin was right. She gives a hum of tentative agreement, mind wandering to the various men of Akashingo. Akhtar, Senmut, Khusobek, Haizel, Harakhte; some felt less dangerous than others, ranging from harmless to leave one eye open while you sleep. Few felt genuinely trustworthy.
It was strange, too, being a female mazoi. Some men have leering glass eyes that follow her, wine-stained teeth, lips that curve in a lecherous grin; a not very well hidden old-guard sense of disdain for her position. Others are more respectful, dutiful, treat her as if she were no different. She wonders if, perhaps, Akashingo was a much different place before Queen Toula ascended to the throne.
Something to show me? there's a hint of wariness to her voice as they come upon the steppes. It's cool, refreshing; a shudder that licks down her spine when the breeze is felt. She did not remember the last time she had even left the palace grounds, let alone go beyond the river's edge. But she nods anyway. Perhaps this was more important than she thought.