Lion Head Mesa Viper

A nod in accord as her spoken title summons the face of the sovereign Toula. Golden; merciful. A goddess to one day ascend. They share in this perception of the Queen, there is true honor in serving a ruler she could respect, one who cared not just for the eternal plane but mortal souls in kind.

But something is retreating in the woman, was it shame in the turn of her face? Gently the fellahin will life a paw to offer the wine, to will the warrior’s eyes upon her again, tips of her paw smoothing over the other’s arm.

She likes to hear Zaahira speak, on a tongue strange but pleasing in how it twists certain vowels. She likes to listen to her plans of advancement, to advocate for her position here within the walls of the kingdom.

“I believe you shall,” she smiles. “You have will, and truly that is what one needs.”

But her lips soften when it is Osiris’ name given. The Lord of Death symbolizes many things, though most importantly of hope for new life after one’s end.

“You are hurting,” comes the concern, quicker than her rank can constrain.