Greatwater Lake eighty-first

mesen-ka was the name of this one, offered up like cattle to the ogre.
senmut was eager for an answer; the man was observed, studied. zharille drew her eye away from the serpent to look over mesen-ka properly — like a butcher gone to market, witnessing the fat upon the body and the muscle, the way his weight is placed, his height, and signs of injury.

a rumble in her throat catches between her teeth as she strides close, then around the sphinx. heavy breaths follow as she inspects for trickery, and then she draws away from the offering and looks to senmut once more.
he will stay.
that will be answer enough.

mesen-ka needed to prove he could work beneath zharille's command. was he strong enough? was he obedient? was he merely a spy hoping to report her weaknesses back to the desert-people? if senmut thought the woman was so bestial that she was stupid, he would be proven wrong.
if akashingo hoped to use her womb in exchange for the lake, zharille would make sure they deserved it.

go, little man.
her rumbling eases as she draws away, towards the spectre that is the waiting kaxwaan.