Lion Head Mesa down on your knees, you just don't look so tall

This time she ranged to the woods, where she had first met Khaba. Zharille made her way by blugeoning the path with her angry steps, or wedging herself between the wild sprawl of trees, until she'd spent hours winding through the paths and emerged the other side — seeing the rolling hills give way to crispy grass, made that way by the harsh sun.

Beyond even that, she could spy the hazy red shapes on the horizon that indicated the mesa.

She thought of lifting her chin to call out — to see if the small man and his people of the sand might be nearby — but that would only alert Khaba to her intentions; her voice would only carry back to the lake, and Zharille knew better than act against herself.

As much as she loathed to leave the forest, she knew that she must go beyond her comfort and in to the land of stones and sand, to these people, or she would never have her children returned to her. The woman was slow to begin; once she'd found a tempo to her run, she crossed from one expanse to the next.

There would be a day or so before she reached the mesa proper, if she chose to go that far. Already Zharille was panting hard and feeling uncomfortable in her own skin. Her coat was too shaggy for this place, and she would sooner overheat than reach her destination. By this point she wondered if she was far enough to call out, and bayed a series of deep, strong calls in to the dust.

senmut did not neglect his worship. the peace of akashingo could only hold so long, and today it was broken by baying summons which crossed the hot sky.

he sent out the medjay bayek to lead the stranger into the hallowed red sand, where he met the stranger and the mazoi.

his green eyes were imperious. "why do you call for akashingo?" senmut asked evenly, fearless before her clear feral power.

A small man did come, but it was not the same. She was resistant at first and showed her nervousness with the flick of her tongue across her exposed teeth, to promise a bite if they did anything untoward. Instead, she was led through the sand.

There, the familiar small man waited. He held himself with an acceptable level of pride that even Zharille found pleasing; it was different from the one other moment she had seen him, although that was many weeks ago and she had a hazy recollection.

She was brooding a moment. Staring him down. Then, averting her eyes and grimacing with the barely-kept rage simmering in her spirit, she spat the name of her offender: Khaba.

The bristle of her spine would be clue enough of her allegiance, in this moment.

senmut knew her now, for she had been the creature to whom khaba had run.

and it had been back to her lake that he had gone again, in defiance of pharaoh.

his heart was hardened at once to hear the name, though the prince was now intrigued to know what had transpired.

"has he left you?" he asked, though her smell was not of the man any longer.

She did not know how to convey exactly what had transpired, or all that she felt. Such things were beyond her. All she could do was approach the man with careful, precise steps; looming over him a moment while the nearby mazoi grew tense. She then turned and showed her sagging belly, the last vestiges of her pregnancy.

Whether he understood or not, Zharille moved her head one way, then the other, so that he could gather what scents might remain upon her coat — the child of Greatwater was all that lingered, now. That, and the scent of the woods.

She rumbled, Mine. Khaba — take.

The display over, she gave the man his space but did not sit, and seemed to pace on the spot, eager to return.

Zharille, she motioned to herself with the lift of her head, proud, powerful; Zharille take back.

so. she had borne children only to be displaced. she sought her power once more. there was a bleak delight in this. the kind young queen of akashingo did not wish war. 

but would she allow khaba to keep a mother from her cubs, as it seemed to have been done here?

yet the priest; he lifted his chin. "so why have you come, zharille?" senmut intoned, seeing an opportunity for a foothold beyond the mesa. he knew why she had arrived here. he sought only to ensure that akashingo's place was secure.

He was infuriating! Or she was furious, and could only contain herself so long — thus, his question caused a flare of her rage to leak out as a snap of teeth; at this, the mazoi bristled and stepped close, earning a side-eye glare from Zharille.

TAKE! Had she not said?

This little man had come for Khaba once, and now could have the benefit of her strength and her knowledge of the lake to make the effort worthwhile. Perhaps she had misjudged just how powerful this one was; he was puny, after all.

Lake, mine. Cubs, mine. That was all she wanted; what became of her once paramour, and his harem, was up to the little man.

"if you are put back on your throne by akashingo, then you will be a vassal to its queen."

there would be no negotiation. zharille would have her rank, toula her traitor. and akashingo would remain the eminent power.

his own teeth glinted; his own eyes burned.

"khaba is a snake to us. his blood belongs to the palace. help to shed it and you will be our strongest ally."

Throne? Vassal? Zharille did not know what these meant. She did not care. All that mattered to her in this moment was her power, and to get her place returned to her she would do anything. She is greedy, and desperate, and too proud to ask outright. She did not care what the deal was — only that she be mother again, and the lake be her domain.

Khaba's blood, yours. She did not care for the steely glint in the little man's eye, but it did not matter. So long as they both got what they wanted. If that meant she somehow served this little man and his sand people from afar, what did she care? They were a world away to her.

she was a wild and ferocious woman, and in her senmut saw many opportunities. "very well," the prince said, stepping back.

"i will inform our queen and your answer shall be given. bayek. see to it that she is fed." he did not think she would come below the mesa with them, and thus furs, meats, and the fermented berries would be brought to her in the open-air throne room, proof of their first hospitality.

and he thought of nazli!