Lion Head Mesa butterflies

The young royal bid him stand, though it fed some ingrained part of her to see his nose hovering mere inches off the shale.

“Yes,” she grins, pleased, soaking up the sound of her title from the well of his lips. “I am making an offering to Her shrine, and am in need of some assistance to find the perfect gift. Would you please help me, mister–?” Her voice trails in ask of the fellahin’s name.