Two Eyes Cenote ninety-first

Eset found she could not sit, she remained standing, though the stillness of it felt dangerous.

“Machiavelli is being hunted by slavers,” a hinted fear quivers on the words, “they are looking to recover him, which will lead them here, to Muat-riya.”  It was a story executed by the fellahin’s own tongue, but Eset believed it to be true.

“I felt it would be safest for him in the cells, under guard, with prepared suppers,” How she had been wrong- and the wanted man had paid the price for her folly. Her eyes lament upon Senmut.

“Blood has already been spilled at our door, I want to-” a breath heaves in her chest, “outsmart them. If they believe we are holding him and willing to trade, it will provide common ground for trust- enough that we might… dispatch them without violence; without anyone else getting hurt.” Her ears fold flatter against her skull.

“Khusobek has gone to guard the sands. If he finds them, we might negate the need for such extreme caution.” But her body tightens and the edge of her chin wrenches low in shame. Still, she will force her eyes over his, accepting the full weight of what resulted.

“Senmut- you should know he was harmed.”

A man suffered under her leadership; one who may rightly never again trust her. Eset felt in her heart she was undeserving of hesbut.