Two Eyes Cenote Hunger of the Pine

backdated a bit! Directly after this thread

When the hills raised, and the land dipped, the spillage of green foliage, Muat-Riya emerged. Prints from the celebration still littered the sands, Ra's light a scorch upon their backs. 

She lead @Machiavelli through the palace.

"We near Hebsut."

A subtle nod of Machi's pale head conveyed acknowledgment, the pelt bag swinging from his mouth hindering a more vocal response.

The palace exuded magnificence, and the persistent, delicate trickling that serenaded the cavern's halls tickled his ears and set him at ease. As he strolled through the passageways, his sharp eyes subtly scrutinized every intricate detail, not merely taking in the opulence but also a shrewd calculation of potential escape routes. A concealed left turn presented dimmer lighting but the promise of fresh air, while the right, though brighter, emanated the resonant sound of water. Each turn of the labyrinthine tunnels etched a mental map—a contingency plan should things go south.

The tips of her ears clawed for the roof of the tunnels, her paws a gentle step along the floor as the collar of duty, of poise, wrapped graciously around her neck.

"Stay." 

She stepped ahead, slipping beyond him and towards @Eset's workspace. She called for her. Legend would make the man wait with her.

Legend calls, and when the hebsut approaches in answer the mazoi is joined by a foreign man with hooded eyes and the dust of the desert on the umber tassels of his pelt.

“Legend,” she greets the woman first before turning her gaze to the stranger at her side.

“Welcome to Muat-riya. How may I help you?”

Hebsut, he greeted with a bow that bore the grace of a practiced courtier, lowering the bag smoothly to the stone floor, where it announced its presence with a soft thump, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. The man raised his head, opalescent irises met those of molten gold.

However, before we delve further into the conversation, I must lay bare a truth that casts a shadow upon my presence—I stand before you as a villain, He began, head beginning to sink, and gaze flicking to the space between them.

I believed myself followed and recklessly attacked your esteemed companion. My actions were presumptuous and, I must admit,—a pause, the man staring hard at the floor—extremely foolish. Machiavelli's eyes darted upward, flashing between the lady of the palace and Legend. I offer her my sincerest apologies and selfishly hope that you will allow me to compensate for the unwarranted suffering I have caused. 

Eset!

Someone not out to kill her!
Legends smile crept on her muzzle and her tail waved, side to side, back and forth at a dragging speed.

She couldn't wait to open her mouth.

"Getta loada this guy! Me founds him a bit away. Real nasty, big teeth, I was in peril! Me reallys should've killed him, actually. Or I should've died. Either ways, a fellahin," prisoner, "for compensation woud be useful, my Hebsut." Sentenced to community service. "He says he is very sorry, see?"

Perms to skip!

"Are you alright, Legend?" She asks first of the mazoi who appears unrattled before resiling her poise to cast a distrusting glance over the man with the parcel, who’s labeled himself only as villain. Legend’s eyes brim with conspiracy and the hebsut knows well enough the darkness which appeals to her.

A fellahin, she suggests. To be a man who gives and owns nothing; who learns the value of dirt and the currency of personhood.

A forward step brings Eset closer to the stranger, the measured burn in her amber eyes tracing over the flaxen lines of his face.

“What is your name?” Her voice questions, looking for an answer beyond criminal.

The man looked to Legend, the tightening of his lips the only betrayal of any shift in emotion. The term "fellahin" didn't resonate well with him, yet he refrained from immediate flight. There lingered a glimmer of hope; perhaps the situation could still be steered in a favorable direction.

You may call me Machiavelli. He stated, his gaze once more skimming over Eset. I owe my gratitude to the benevolent gods above for illuminating my error before any harm befell her. I might only pray they will continue to extend their mercy, allowing me the fortune of a fair and honorable judgment from someone as respectable as yourself.

There is a press in her brow for Machiavelli’s cloying words. She did not want his flattery, but the assurance that no harm would come to the inhabitants of Muat-riya.

“It is my duty to oversee this palace in the interest of our Pharaoh. This is no place for dangerous impulsivity,” she speaks pointedly.

A sharp look flicks from his face to Legend’s, to find again the confirmation in the shade.  He had been forthcoming, and had clearly won the mazoi’s favor. There is no tempering Eset's stance but the furrow in her brow softens.

“To be fellahin is a housekeeper to the people of Muat-riya. Is this servitude what you desire, Machiavelli?”

Short one sorry!

If that is what would be most pleasing to the Lady's desires, and your own, Hebsut, the man replied, dipping his head with a gracious acknowledgment. Rest assured, my approach to work is marked by meticulous care and precision.

If there are any particular preferences in the manner in which certain tasks are completed, he continued, his tone a blend of deference and assurance, please do not hesitate to instruct me. Your satisfaction is my utmost priority.

Wariness knots in her chest, but she says nothing. The self-assurance that governed her was not so strong in the months of her promotion. She glances at Legend and in the quiet seriousness of her face requests her allegiance- no matter how alluring she found the courtly stranger.

“Very well,” she makes the concession. “Legend, would you please show Machiavelli the palace while I prepare his room? Your training will begin this evening.”

She pauses only to see the mazoi’s acceptance and to permit herself a final look before turning to fade down the hall of rooms.

Eset had every reason to be wary. Every reason to not trust.

"Yes." With a curled tail over her feet, she tapped her tail there neatly and kept her eyes upon Eset.

"I will show him. I will also ensure his leave if he is of most annoyance to you."

Turning tail, she walked Machiavelli out. She'd show him to the fellahin halls.