Lion Head Mesa That's a fine looking high horse

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She works during the day. Wiping soaked floors, stacking leather settings, scrubbing the Queen's dais until her face reflects in the sandstone and seeing that Her Majesty wants for nothing. She waits on the Princes and brings them their meals- fattened poultry and fresh-caught fish from the serpent, decanters of wine and beer.

During afternoon rest she paints crude sketches on the wall of her room, testing complementary colors and envisioning Toula’s reception hall in sophisticated paint. White, golds, blues, umber. Nothing that would pull focus from the sharpness of her eyes. Then she prays for protection from Bastet and patience from Thoth, health to the Queen, Tavina, Zaahira and the realm. She repents a sinner’s tongue. She vows to stay the course of a dutiful fellahin.

At the conclusion of the Queen’s evening regime she will go to the medbay to study under Tavina’s guidance.

At night when she collides with her bedstone, paw trailing down over herself it is Khusobek’s cold eyes in her mind, the collar like something unfed clinches for attention. Then are thoughts of a grieving doctor and an absent wife.

In the evening after bathing there is a recently returned mazoi to tend, a chamber to be prepared with pelts and glistening palace commodities. The good Queen wants for all who walk her halls to know and feel their value. Eset places an arrangement of cornflower blooms designed by Haziel on a shallow surface in the room. A pair of golden fox hides for the bedstone. Parched woven cups and dishes for water and wines, and frankincense to lightly perfume the air.

Approaching footfalls. She stands aside with a politely lowered head, ready at once to address the woman called @Legend.