calling

“My, what great, beautiful tusks you have,” Eset grins, snaking a playful paw up towards Racharra’s maw, feigning a close inspection. But the hearty laughter dwindles as soon as the lake is mentioned. She wonders if Racharra feels earnestly prepared for such an undertaking, if leadership was a true pursuit of passion, or an obligation. With a shallow sigh she realizes either way it does not matter. The nebet would act in the interest of the crown.

“That is a lot of responsibility," Eset whispers, only out of rapport. She knew the nebet would not make any decision lightly. "Is it what you want, Racharra?” Of course, time could change everything, what she wanted could shift, even in the short length of a few months.