Lion Head Mesa ninety-seventh

It was impossible to take everything in at once. They were whisked forward in what felt a whirlwind by not only guardsmen, but servants whom encompassed close by—Nasima’s pearlescent blue eyes blinking rapidly as her mind tried to catch up with the many new sights, the many new scents—

—and the dark and powerful shadow that strode toward them with such liquid movements that he was as graceful as sweeping water itself—and yet coiled within, he emanated the power of a waterfall—turbulent—purposeful.

She was struck.

Her eyes slanted back to Senmut before lowering—her knees shaking as she humbled herself closer to the ground—finding her throat dry, her nerves fraught. “If it would please you, Great One, I would be so grateful to serve the glorious Pharoah,” she murmured—dulcet tones lending a note of uncertainty that she even paid the proper tribute and respect through title and posture.