Lion Head Mesa Mountain

The girl's tail wagged as her father listed the toys he had in mind. Little teeth gritted upon the stick in her jaws at the thought of sharing a toy with her brothers. A tug would not be yielded from her jaws easily. But her attention piques at the mention of a fox tail. The fox furs she had seen the adult fellahin carry to replace the bed furs for nobles had captivated the half-ogre's watchful eye. The furs, even if soiled, were beautiful.

Baba, gave no indications she had to share the fox tail. It would be all hers.

The thought pleased the little, beastly girl immensely.

I would like a tail! Eager was her voice, I would like to see the other palace too.

Golden, sunlit eyes watched the lines upon her father's face. Mesen-ka had always gazed softly upon her, she felt. She felt the same gentleness stir within her and a softness in her chest when she saw him too. The girl supposes that this is what it is to feel familial love so greatly it is physical.

There is a melancholic note to her father's voice, but there is a reverence to his words. Taliba had also seen the strength rose within her father. The straightening of his spine when he stood guard to Pharaoh and Semer-wati. The authority that bled into his voice and the keen glint to his eye.

She believed that he was honored by his role wholeheartedly. Her father was an embodiment of someone who loved his job. In the selfish, immature manner of a child, the girl held a glint of jealously for the love Mesen-ka held for his job. It nestled in her chest, vested beneath her skin. Nor did she hold an appreciation for the boring day.

But Taliba loved her father. So the girl simply grunted in acknowledgement. She walked by her father's side, enjoying that he spent this time with her.