Ocean's Breath Plateau seventy-third

the noblewoman swallows shallowly. the lord of moontide had indirectly answered her lingering questions. i'm sorry for your loss. she says through a breath that she didn't know she had held onto. the noblewoman understands that words could never fill the hole an absence leaves behind.

like a snap of fingers, the bison skin catches her eye. she blinks. for a moment she'd almost forgotten why they were even here, but the skin grounded her back from wandering too far away from the present. and so her dark body ducks away from the men to browse. 
well preserved skins and other trinkets of animals that would never set foot near the desert form a line. all of them yearn to be taken along with the skin of the bison, but only one could go. so then, which one should she choose? 

deja vu stabs and twists a dagger in her stomach. she barely winces.

and these furs of seashells? racharra decides, standing in front of the pair. the bison fur is brilliant, but she felt it wouldn't have been taking the sea with them. these, she thinks, would make an impressive display for the palace, or for muat-riya. perhaps under Ra, where he may allow them to shine when bathed in his sun. the image is too tempting for her to leave behind.