Luneshale Pass fifty-first

She had Toula's face.
A woman of proud stature; non-wolven, in some way, though Zaahira could not quite figure out how. From her place beside Khusobek with whom she had been idly chattering, eyes carefully averted from the swinging hips of the fellahin, she then saw her.
Daughter of Ramesses and Satsu; these names of which she knew only in passing, these names that meant much more to the Queen than they did her. She intends to be pharaoh. Immediately, suspicioun burls inside of the mazoi.
She had clearly abandoned her post. What gave her the right to crawl back and demand godhood?
But she does not voice this; no, no, never would she dare. This was the Queen's family. A friend of a friend, or so she wished to believe.
And so her judgmental eyes turn soft when they face the Queen who offers her a welcome, refreshments; and away again does her gaze turn, back in the direction of Khusobek; avoiding, of course, the sordid glare of Rashepses. A production indeed.