Lion Head Mesa [wp] ferrous

eset's gifts had engendered a feeling of goodwill in tavina, a softness that had been lost for some time.

one evening thereafter, the sesh decided she would procure a gift of her own for the fellahin. class distinction was not so important. wasn't joy more fitting?

armfuls of scarlet flowers gathered beside the lake were soon scattered, however, as a desperate tavina ran for the waterline. a hive heavy with bees slumbering in the lowering heat had felt its branch snap, and the thing entire had come down beside the hapless doctor.

she huddled in the water, aching from a half-dozen stings.

Akashingo, it seemed, was under the reigns of hellfire. She'd heard word from the new fellahin of Tuna's plight, and whispers of something about the Queen.
Needless to say, rest did not come easy. But apparently nor did movement. She'd already banged her head on the arch of a walkway, nearly tripped over herself so many times, even as she now headed for the river's edge. A bundle of flowers, twigs and ferns is held gently within her jaws — one of which, a mysterious blue lotus she'd found in a woven bowl at her bedside. She knew not where that had come from; Akhtar, maybe? Tuna? The Queen herself? Surely not Khusobek. Senmut... no. Nazli, even more emphasis on the no. Maybe — no, it couldn't be.
She meant to ask around after she delivered her little bundle to Selena's gravesite. That was where she kept everything, for she was there more often than not, as of late.

But the serenity of the walk along the river's bank is broken. Near the lake, a shrill humming sound; the mob of insects hanging overhead, lying in wait; and in a heap in a shallow pool is one of Akashingo's sesh. They'd never yet spoken, but apparently, they would now.
The bundle is placed neatly within the protection of a head of sagebrush, and curiously, Zaahira makes her approach. Are you alright? Comes her tentative voice, eyes wide as she feebly backs away from the yellow-striped insects; oh, dear, she didn't like that. Not at all!
A cold prickle of fear, and in said fear's wake, she is soon tumbling over rather melodramatically to her side. A misstep. Because of course.
Oh, Gods, have mercy.

tavina did not have time to answer before the mazoi greeting her collapsed into a heap! feeling rather silly for cowering among bees, the sesh rose from the water and knelt dripping, reaching across the woman's rangy body for signs of swelling or injury.

"what happened?" tavina inquired with a small smile, wincing a bit as it tugged a beesting upon her lip. "are you dizzy?" the other was spice-edged and strong, a combination that was not wasted on the sesh.

I am okay, her ears flatten to the sides of her head, the bed of dust that now surrounded her only giving a momentary respite before she leans on her elbows. I am sorry, I wanted to come here to help you.
Shifting, wobbly, her knees buckle before she could even manage one solid attempt at standing. Out her legs go beneath her like a clumsy deer fawn. This was just embarrassing!
I think Akashingo is... I do not know, the Gods are cross with us, a defeated shake of her head. She cannot bring herself to look to the raven-furred woman. She, who as she now thought of it, could have been a mirror image of Selena save for the bright eyes of violet. I promise I am not normally so much of a klutz.

the gods may have governed everyone else, but tavina saw the fault only in long days and the heat sickness with many presentations and many modes.

she steadied zaahira. "come on. let's get you back inside." her voice offered no indication she would accept anything less than agreement. "have you felt any other symptoms?" and though it was late for it, the doctor lowered her voice.

"is there a chance you could be with child?"

She is kind, with a steady grip that hoists her up whether Zaahira wanted it or not. She allows it, although she refuses to apply her full body weight. Questions, thrown at her, and to each one, the aspwoman gives a shake of her head.
She thinks of Akhtar, briefly; but no, she would know by now if anything had come of it, would she not?
And besides—
No, I am a, a pause, a slight curve to her lips; an uncertain, almost sheepish look cast to the doctor; but one, intrinsically somehow, of knowing. what is the word for liking women when you are also woman?

that brought a look slanting directly down into zaahira's face, and a wry little smile of something known flitted across tavina's mouth. something answering.

"well, here they'll simply call you doctor," she answered in humoured dryness, helping to support the mazoi as their steps sought not to tangle.

Warmth creeps up onto the narrowed cheekbones of the mazoi. I did not know doctor had a double meaning, playing along — a tiny, earnest smirk given.
But I am okay, she says again, assuring. I have been a bit, um, what was the word? troubled. But has everyone not? haunted by a pair of brothers, relations with a fellahin gone awry, and now a kingdom seemingly experiencing mass hysteria. I was gathering gifts for... a lover. She points with her nose in the direction Selena's grave is located. A lover; a lover who is now a withered skeleton, buried. But this she does not yet say. —

a lover.

zaahira did not elaborate and tavina did not press. she held the guard against her as they came to the first of the three large redstone steps leading up into the open-air throne room.

her stung flesh ache. she guided the other woman into the lower halls. "something does appear to be happening, but something is always going on in akashingo."

her mind rested upon nala.

That much I have learned, Zaahira chortles. never a day of peace, is there? But that is all part of the joy.
She's led back through the entrance to the mesa's halls, the open air giving way to the lower passageways. The burn of summer's heat lingers in the fibers of her pelt, even now while shaded.
Doctor, she says, finally, a gentle inquiry resting on her tongue; do you know of any plant that helps with nightmares? Because lately, it was as if there was no break from them even while awake.

a lover. a plagued eye. a soft laugh that did not dispel how guarded zaahira seemed to be. "all part of the joy." her mouth a bow.

"i have nothing for nightmares, but i can put you to sleep," tavina promised, ignoring the double entendre of her words in exchange for a medical examination. "how long have you been having bad dreams?"

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: some mildly graphic descriptions of death

How long? Zaahira couldn't say.
Some nights there were few dreams at all. Others were pleasant; the smell of sweet smoke and taste of bitter wine, laughter fluttering from chests. Soft touches, devotion, worship; lazy afternoons in the reeds while cicadas hum from above — what could have been.
And the worst; when the wine turns to poison in the asp's veins and ruddy, cold skin smells of the first signs of decomposition. Black eyes gone malignant, unmoving; blood. So much of it, how nauseating the feeling as it rusts with oxygen and grows cold, even as the sun beats overhead.
Months have now passed, and still—
She swallows; pupils blown. Since before the war. Though that often saturated her subconscious just as well.

"i imagine you've been through quite a trauma."

a lover.

can i tell you how i lost mine?

the taste of nala's mouth, the excited joy in her voice when she told tavina of her work.

the feel of her body in a bed long felt empty; the sesh slept on the floor with more frequency.

"i'd like to start you on a regimen of nightly medicine, for two weeks, zaahira," tavina said, evincing nothing of the sword twisting bloodily in her gut. "the mind fares better when it can rest, without dreams of any kind. and you're able to heal more quickly, also."

A trauma.
A trauma?
That was a word Zaahira had not heard before. There were many, often thrown around; loss, grief, war, death; no. It wasn't that, was it?
But even still, as the doctor gives her prescription, an odd taste forms on the back of Zaahira's tongue, and she finds herself staring at the space between her eyebrows. Yes.
A flicker of wildfire eyes, and perhaps she was simply losing her mind, but she sifts around in the magenta sea of Tavina's own and in the rubble she could swear she found the shared pain of two women who now sleep alone.
Trauma. A breath is drawn, heavy, before her lip begins to quiver.
I found her body.

"oh, dear girl."

but she was not a girl, she was simply not a jaded woman approaching her middle age.

"oh, dear friend." 

what if i find my wife the same way?

and now the agony was reflected in fear, until the sesh slumped down beside zaahira and offered the rough embrace of one arm, finding herself measured and known by the mazoi in a way she had not expected to need so very much.

"did you bury her?" and there could be no pretense at evenness in her voice now; it was the shale-strewn beach beside an empty ocean as she found the other's eyes and held them with a new desperation.

Perhaps she had been right, perhaps Tavina, too, knew of this impossibly insurmountable climb toward relief from a heaviness that never seemed to cease.
But she does not ask.
No, and there's regret in that, even as she somehow finds herself smiling. Senmut and Tuna did. She was a woman of the enemy, as was I, before this. and yet they honored her. I could not bring myself to move her, when I saw her.
A sniffle comes, followed by a shake of her head, for in this moment she was not the fearless gold-gilded mazoi and Tavina not a sesh under the oath of duty. There was no more façade to uphold. It has been months and I still cannot find peace.

senmut and tuna. good souls, and one of them a prince who somehow did not know he was supposed to now be arrogant.

she reached up and pulled something down; she offered zaahira a wet cloth for her face, for her eyes. "she was not an enemy to us. only khaba was, in the end."

"peace only comes when you're rested and fed. i know it sounds so simple, maybe foolish. but grief starves your entire self. and peace needs a full belly to sleep on."

was that not how she herself had gone on?

omg i'm the worst i'm so sorry for dropping the ball on this thread D: we can fade here if u want!

Tavina's words are kind; the touch of cool cloth a bitter relief.
She gives good advice, Zaahira decides.
Maybe I am not eating enough, the tension is whisked away with a curve of the mazoi's mouth. Her eyes are tender as the cloth is pressed down with a shaking paw. And maybe you aren't either, dear sesh.
I think we both need to rest.

no worries whatsoever! <3

"i think you're right."

the firm mouth, wan in this moment.

in time, both healer and patient would pace to their respective beds, but perhaps each might lie awake for her own reasons.

and those reasons which overlapped.