Luneshale Pass Cerastes

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She was not turned away, though if for the sake of politeness or a sincere invitation, she could not read it in the mazoi’s bearing.

“Thank you,” she expresses regardless, her eyes searching Zaahira’s for a breath before seating herself beside a bronze shoulder. Her own body grew ungiving with guilt, though attempts are made to quell it as the warrior speaks.

“Quiet,” she answers first before professing, “It was peaceful.” She had enjoyed moving about the halls when they rang with the sound of only her footsteps and it was Toula alone she attended. But she was too ashamed to reveal herself as a creature intrigued by court politics, one that craved to have her own paw in it, a treasonous quality for a servant of the palace. Eset pans her view away across the flatlands bathed now in blush.

“The journey was fortunately uneventful; we made good timing. The Queen is in good health and spirits,” she adds, knowing their ruler’s wellbeing is of great personal concern for her.

“How are you?” She asks with more than a modicum of concern stretching along her face as she returns her eyes to Zaahira.