Lion Head Mesa Some turn to dust or to gold

And what lovely halls they were! Decorated with red desert blossoms that his friend the high priest had said to give them! Seven of them, to be exact, freshly watered thanks to the doe of a wolf with water-soaked moss in his jaws. Apparently, seven was a holy number, though Haizel had yet to learn much of the ways that Senmut breathed so freely. He'd have to ask, and he thought his query would make the man happy. 

But for now, a problem arose for the decorator of a sesh. He'd seen a falling woman, and on legs as graceful as such a creature, he skidded to a halt before he could run her over with his frame. 

Are you okay, miss?