Lion Head Mesa ninety-seventh

She could scarcely look up—the moment truly dizzying as her nerves frayed. Was that appreciation that lingered in his eyes—or the imagination of a woman who was thin from malnourishment and placed within walls of indulgence her mind could not even fathom to create? Her father had taught her to remain demure in such moments, and so, she held back from seeking his gaze.

She could feel the presence and scent of Senmut linger further—felt the hesitant itch of fur at his sudden absence from her presence, but she trained herself still—tongue smoothing over her lips as she considered the gilded man’s words—honeyed with his pride and love for his wife.

“I am afraid I would be a disservice to you with any means of battle or hunt,” she began, swallowing the quaver that threatened her soft vocals. “I am apt at caring for others. In particularly, children—and am more than willing to learn of other aspects needed to maintain such a glorious kingdom, Great One.”