Two Eyes Cenote Leaf-nosed

Eset wasn’t really a healer, more of a botanist than anything else. But she had no desire to make this distinction, and her tongue felt swollen and numb, too thick to form proper words.

“Tavina,” she murmurs still, thinking the two wrights must have crossed paths during their time under Pharaoh Ramesses' reign, and must have made something of each other. Her eyes are sent across the room, lethargically absorbed by the steady grind of paw against mortar.

“Coyote women?” Eset asks, gaze following north towards the healer’s stern face.