Lion Head Mesa forty-first

Nazli's heart ached; it was hardly the first time, however in the past few days she had felt something chip away at her core, and this last thing was almost too hard to bear. It was as if someone had pierced her through the chest. She could not breathe deeply without the fear that Makono was off somewhere, waylaid, or somehow struggling. Knowing what she did now of the world outside of Akashingo, Nazli's feeling on the subject was immense and all-consuming.

She did not think of Senmut, now. She did not see the yawning chasm that separated the two of them, nor the flicker of love-turned-duty in his eye; thinking only of her dear friend Makono, the guilt of her own betrayal of that relationship, and all that hungry, aching, malignant fear. She had no words.

Instead of speaking, as she was so overcome, Nazli pressed close to Senmut and seemed to burrow deeper against him. Her frailty consumed by the plush of his well-maintained coat, her sharp shoulder and hip digging against the meat of his side, so much like a child hungry for comfort. Her eyes watered.