Lion Head Mesa to speak the name of the dead is to make him live again

Someone comes, answering his call. They approach, not alone, but with many. One holds a fern for shade, another stands tall with caution. Servants, they both might be. Which could only mean that the women to address him was of royal blood, or something similar.

Out of respect, also as a sign of his nonthreatening presence, Thutmose keeps his distance, sitting himself as he watches she who one had called queen-to-be. 

After a moment, he parts his lips, ready to speak his piece. I am Menkhperre Thutmose, son and heir of high commander to the faction of Akhsounu. The place from where I travel is one of red sands, much like this. Be it not an inopportune time to have come, your home has drawn my curiosity. 

A twitch of the ear and a soft blink conclude his introductions. He waits in further silence, posture hardened and unyielding, but not imposing. Thutmose wonders how she may think of his words.