Lion Head Mesa A neat tucked slice

qiao's new quarters were roomy, well-kept, and sensibly decorated with soft furs. for this, she commended sayf silently -- certainly, this was a level of fancy in which qiao had long ago learned to not take for granted.

a chuff announced her houseguest. turning from the bundle of pelts she had placed upon the flat rock sayf envisioned as her bed, qiao regarded her visitor. 

he was striking in the way she found most of her kin: his features long and pointed, dusted by silver and shade. beneath his muscled chest rust made its mark, turning the self-same shade of clay they stood upon.

sayf, i presume. qiao bent forward. qiao, hemet of akashingo. ramesses informed me you would see to my quarters, and i see his trust was not misplaced.