Lion Head Mesa forty-second

The mighty erpa-ha did not dismiss her. Instead, he watched. She stayed. She knelt, and she drank before his figure.

She was his mazoi, and him her erpa-ha. One that she held desire for to satisfy his mental with loyalty. One she far from minded. His gaze brought forth a chill down her spine, and she let it wash her in plenty with each drink she took. To her, this was how he should be treated. How he should be addressed. How he should be looked to. How a royal, an erpa-ha, a prince, should be addressed. How he deserved so.

In a turned head, eyes seldom to reach the touch of his, her lightly smiling lips, default as it was, dared to ask him a question. Oh, she wished not to upset him, and the obligation softly pulled her undercoat. And softly she asked, even if she knew the question to be empty. The conversation soothed her skin, and oh, how fluid it came. "Does my presence disturb him?" 

He could answer however he desired, but it was clear that regardless she would bend without complaint to accommodate his answer, wouldn't she? 

He should know so. She felt he did when his voice of rust settled into her ears for an ingrained memory. That stayed in her bones for these seconds. Every second more, she showed gratitude for the gift of his voice. His time. His space. His water. She felt no rush.