Lion Head Mesa forty-seventh

his voice was so lovely, and his singing evoked such feeling within her. she would thing of these words, turn them over in her head—had she ever heard the song before? it was for her, these words, but were they his feelings? 
she did not mean to stare so, and only realized that she did as Senmut’s gaze suddenly found her own. and she did not break it, not even as he spoke with a voice suddenly uneven. 
Toula found suddenly she did not want him to go. that there were a dozen things she might ask of him instead, none of which were prudent or useful to Akashingo, and none of which perhaps were very wise.
had she no governess, no teachings of her own, she might have. in so many areas Toula was well equipped and wise, but here and now she felt a fool. 
she could not speak, however. her own voice might break, and that fact might be revealed. none could know that but for her. she lifts her head a measure and fights against the urge to shake her head rather than nod. she obeys her better judgment, and nods in a way that is befitting a Goddess, a Queen of Akashingo and of this new land that they would come to rule, too. Queen not only of the Red Sands, but more—that he and the princes would bring her. 
the other princes that she must, and did, consider with this dignified and commanding nod.