Two Eyes Cenote ninety-eighth

For a time his face was grievous, drinking the same oppressive tension from the air. Acknowledged by both of them, yet remaining unspoken. She wanted to thank him, for being there. For not burying her, when perhaps a wolf of his status should have. But no matter how she shaped her mouth the words would not come to tongue. She did not know how to peel back the layers, one at a time, until what’s underneath was known. Her skills were in designing and cleansing, and for all her aptitude she was helplessly disorientated to trust.

Time and again the hebsut felt she had failed Muat-riya. Yet time and time again, Senmut chose to treat her with a grace she was not convinced she deserved. 

Somehow, they both found a way to move into a neutralized space; the one she was most comfortable occupying. Still, under the kindly jeweled gaze, she felt her tensed shoulders soften.

“Salt, coriander. Peppercorns, for the scullery. Bearberry and golden poppy for Tavina’s stores, if you would, Erpa-ha.” A pause.

“Please tell Pharaoh @Toula– everything. The threats at our borders. The carriage of unknown drugs. That we hold a man, Soto, captive for his involvement with our young mazoi. That a boy was killed in the waters of our cenote. That his death still goes unanswered. That Machiavelli is hunted. That we intend to defend him.”

“That the hebsut has had a miscarriage. That she is now fine.”

Eset no longer wished to hide. She was trying.