Lion Head Mesa there’s a way, I know

Her words come softly, no forgiveness is needed. Eset will not rise, but there is a lift of muzzle. She sees the face she has mistaken for Hathor. Dreamlike in memory are her jade-eyes.

“Your Highness,” she draws in awe. She is radiant. “Thank you.”

The Queen will speak of ascension in rank, of a choice beyond what she knows. A priestess? Medic? Such ideas are lofty. She will want to do what she is suited for. She has always served the nobility alongside her mother. There is no shame in the rank for her; it is simply where coyotes belonged and where she felt she would stay now, if accepted here in Queen Toula’s palace.

“There would be a great honor in serving you as fellahin, my Queen.”