Luneshale Pass just an appendage

Head pressed to her chest, eyes held in a soft flutter; voice guttural as the prayer is recited, shouted, even; Zaahira is Sekhmet, Lady of eternity, the unveiled one! She is Her voice upon this mortal plane, Her hand, Her humble devotee!
It was as if Zaahira could feel Her in shades of brown-gold, Her clenched fist and sharpened teeth. The pull of dry heat, the flare of nape as it bristles; life and death, health and suffering, sickness and prosperity.

O Sekhmet, Eye of Ra, Great of Flame; protect her, our Queen, Lady of the Red Serpent;
Protect her and preserve her from all arrows,
And every evil of this year!

On and on does the mantra drum until the throat of the future jodai grows hoarse, the echo of two voices bouncing off the dry scape. Empassioned, devoted in full, with no longer an ounce of hesitation. And when it comes to a stop, Zaahira looks to her Queen with plush eyes; a soft search for approval, for pride, as a pupil might to their mentor. She had never before led them in their worship!