Lion Head Mesa brother-blood

The ripples shifted away and across the pool. Satakhetem's shape undulating with it; as the pool settled to stillness again, there was the glowing shape of her holy mother perched beside. The youth of both mother and child linked their expressions; the relation between them was clear. So too was the stern line of her brow, like her father's, and the swarthiness of her cheeks.

In a quiet voice, confident but subtle, Satakhetem murmurs, Mother, you are like Ra, you and father. Her words were in the old language, taught by listening to both parents speak to one-another. The girl saw this as a secret language, and one of love. She coveted these little things which felt so big, and so powerful, and in some way superior to those outside the family. It was clear by the scrunch of her brow that Satakhetem had more to her thought and struggled now to both comprehend and verbalize what she was reaching for.

She turns her eyes upon Toula, and leans against her mother in the common way of a needy child. Who sings for you?