Ocean's Breath Plateau staring into the sun

@Senmut maybe?

a change of plans. 

today it is racharra that calls for the priest at dusk. she waits by the shoreline, away from moontide to allow for privacy. the moon's reflection on pink hued waters is her only company as she sits in front of it, settled in soft beach sand. the ocean strains its tide to kiss at racharra's hands, but the girl is unamused. 
the nebet that once was perhaps would've enjoyed the sight, but that girl is comatose now. asleep, but in ruin, for her dream lies in the ashes of the bridge she burned in one night.

racharra has, truly, only one thing to discuss, and that was the future of her stake on the lake. the ogre's words ring in her ears again: only dog go where told. her brows can't help but furrow as her bowels stir, ill with worry. how dire are the consequences for a dog who cannot do as told?

he had traded for herbs and the bison skin; now senmut was amusing himself with smaller exchanges and observing the wolves who had joined them. the excursion from akashingo could not stay for so much longer, but he had enjoyed all the moments of this time.
racharra's voice rose, and gilded in sealight, senmut moved out to find her. the oceansalt glittered around her, but an aura of pensiveness clung to the young woman.
silently the priest took upon a place beside her, extending his own paws into the touch of the surf as his green eyes alit upon her face.

the man arrives and racharra straightens her shoulders after a sigh. hello, hope i caught you at a good time.

she speaks with forced dignity, unlike senmuts who wields it as if he was born for it. her muscles ache, yearning to return to the comfort of her bed. and her eyes, how heavy they feel that with each blink she must fight to open once again.

last night i.. encountered what might be an obstacle in our path. she begins as green eyes sear into her. racharra shamefully returns her gaze to the ocean ahead.

"the hour finds me well." our path? did she mean her own? senmut existed in quiet for a moment, mulling over what racharra meant.

she was a noblewoman, and knew the words she had chosen. now he would ascertain their purpose. "speak to me, nebet," the erpa-ha encouraged, granting the young woman his gaze entire, his attention in every portion.

nebet. racharra slumps with a defeated frown, a sigh escaping as her body crumples from the weight of the priest's words — a title that she never asked for, and she realizes perhaps was never hers to begin with.

..i will not be able to claim the lake. she starts, firm yet unbalanced, ungraceful.she continues with a huff, and her brow furrows. zharille has come back. i met with her, just beyond the woods. the girl turns behind her to the dark spruce that looms over the gentle coastal side of moontide.
...it didn't go well. racharra's gaze is fixated to the trees — no, really, her gaze is beyond even that. its on the fields, the one she still sees so vividly the way the stalks of grass swallowed her mother whole.

zharille. long had it been since he heard this name, but he knew it, and assumed in a moment at all the ways their discourse had soured.

"zharille traded her claim to the lake for the capture of khaba and the rescue of her children," the prince said plainly. she may not have known it at the time, primal creature she was, but akashingo would only recognize their own claim now to greatwater.

a child left back in a gilded basket now had the education, the guardianship, the guidance of divine royalty. racharra had been so sure. how had the word of an absent woman stolen her determination?

to be frank; racharra did not know whether or not zharille would go for the lake. but not that it mattered — she no longer wanted it. she damned it. but the "nebet" does not wish to betray her own cowardice and admit that to senmut. she shakes her head.

she said you promised it would be a vassal. a gentle push, a prod maybe, is attempted. zharille probably misheard, or misunderstood, seeing how she couldn't even remember some of her children. but the offer still stuck out to the girl. regalities mattered not to the ogre anyways, unlike her daughter. if she truly were to take the lake she would do it even if akashingo came stampeding towards it.

racharra shakes her head and returns her gaze back to senmut. whatever it is that was agreed upon — i just no longer believe it's worth it. perhaps someone else.
someone more capable. the thought is refrained.

"yes. a vassal state to the palace is headed by another not from among us. for a noble of akashingo to claim such a place would be a different thing entirely."

the worthiness of the place was mentioned. senmut looked out over the great and endless expanse of water. "i will not press you, nebet. know only that you are also heir to the lake. it gave you life. the red sands gave you nurturing. you are one of two people, and a third: your own."

whatever she chose to do would be wise in the end, the prince must believe. he only would encourage her to indeed seek that purpose.

the reminder comes like a sting. greatwater lake — zharille — is forever seared into her blood. racharra suppresses a hiss.

instead her head goes limp, swaying as she drops it. she can only look up at the man now. he really was little, but carried such a grand presence. it overwhelms her.

through pouting lips she mumbles: i wish i was only of akashingo.
had she'd been toula's daughter, or eset's, how differently would things have been. neither would never had made her choose. neither would have left her for better prospects, all the while shaming her for doing what she thought was right.

but in the end racharra only has herself to blame. she chose the red sands, and she can't take it back. nor does she want to.

i know it'd be different. rather, she trusts it'd be different.
but for now i wish to focus on marriage.
a thought enters her mind and circles it like a fly, buzzing in her ear so that it may be heard: is the marriage to be rid of her?

"marriage, then." he eased, but despite her powerful form, racharra was young. surely many things still raced within her, things which must be sorted before these kinds of alliances.

"you are of us first," senmut assured. "the lake is your standard, but only if you will carry it, nebet. if you wish to shed its name, let it be done." his lips curved encouragingly. "i have spoken with a young noble of hearthwood. his sister is its ruler. he might be an appealing prospect."

"remember that love is incidental to power. you have one. many will appeal with the other to possess your status. look through them, racharra. see their souls as they are touched by Ma'at."

with it settled, a weight slightly lifts off racharra's shoulders. slightly, but it is still a relief. for now she saves her woes for more late night prayer.

prospects were on the horizon for her — senmut has been hard at work it seems, shopping her around. she raises a brow, however.
hearthwood? i haven't heard of it. many stranger wolves aside from the sea people had come to the plateau, though she'd only seen them in passing and spoken with few.
upon his words of caution, the dark beauty is careful to not be too excitable. 

what was he like? she may have to see for herself, but the eyes and word of the erpa-ha she could always place her trust in.

"younger than rodyn, who i had also considered," senmut said, now the sparkle in his eyes stating plainly his rather brotherly intention of teasing racharra. "finely made, handsome, with a resignation to his status as noble which i found to be of interest."

"hearthwood is the only pack in the mountain range known as the sunspire," the prince went on, gesturing east of their position to the shadow of tall peaks in the distance. "it would benefit us to control trade and secure a foothold there once more. this was once the role of mereo, which has long since disbanded."

yes yes, i'm well aware.. a chortle cant help but leave her as she recounts the meeting with the moontide leader. it struck her as odd (arguably funny) for her hand to be offered to one far older than her like rodyn, as kind as he was. a younger suitor is closer to what she'd be interested in.

she hums as she thinks, brow furrowed as she stares at the mountains. their figures loom up ahead like castles. but the red palace of akashingo will always be far more striking.

but would his resignation to nobility pose a problem? how does hearthwood fair?
irony leaves a metallic taste in her tongue as she realizes her own sudden hesitation to own her status, but she ignores it.

"his sister has new children. there was no mention of a husband." tybault had offered both he and reverie in potential marriage, but it was the brother who had piqued such an offer.

"if he wishes to be more, he will join you in the red palace," senmut determined. "hearthwood would then be beneath the protection of akashingo." and its control.

the prince studied racharra. "what are your misgivings, noble one?"

her eyes narrow. it's like she's being used as a bargain — solely a bridge and not a person. is it unfair for her, or for the man offering his hand in marriage. but children are also at stake, and now racharra is at a crossroads. she takes a moment to think before speaking.

is there no other way to help them besides a bethrothal? she asks.
perhaps we could provide resources until the children are a year old. then we ask them to repay their debts. or in exchange for our goods, they trade with us their own treasures.

"well, that depends, nebet, on whether you mean to fashion yourself as a savior or as a noble." his red brow now arched in her direction. "do you mean to be a trader or a land-holder?" she must narrow now her aspirations, direct them.

"i offered this: akashingo provides the support and goods to fill hearthwood's needs, in exchange for three deer a month delivered to the flatlands. if we are stocking their larders, they will not starve while they gather our tribute. and these deer, their hides, their bones, their marrow, all of it, they would belong to you, nebet. you would amass wealth before your marriage was conducted."

a silent line of steps. "you are right to think of them with empathy, racharra. but not at the expense of yourself. you are here for your own ambition. if it is to save, then save. but if it is to build, then do so with strategy."

but wouldn't the expense of myself be marrying a man who seeks only to strengthen his kingdom? she huffs in frustration. i do not wish to extend my hand if it's out of desperation.

perhaps it was the last vestiges of a naive girl, who truly thinks there is such a thing as love, that speaks for racharra now. the teenager she will be in less than a month from now. but she wishes to find it more now than ever before. she doubts she'll find it in a marriage only for politics. no, she'll have to find it for herself beyond the veil of nobility.

send word i reject the proposal, but i'm willing to find other means of allegiance. voice firm, she gives out a sharp exhale as she settles in her seat. perhaps the same agreement. i'll have my own wealth, but not at the cost of a marriage gone to waste.

ah.

understanding filled his green eyes with a warmth, and a pity.

"desperation builds your wealth and power. this is the purpose of nobility: to build. to build a court, racharra, or an empire."

and yet, approval, to see the young nebet proudly refuse that which she saw beneath her. senmut did not care that she had ordered him; his head dipped. "it shall be done. i suggest you offer them a time and place in which you might meet to discuss such terms."

and he would arrange the words, scribe that he was beneath all the fine paint and airy robing.

racharra returns to meet senmut, and flinches.
i think i went a step too far. my apologies.
she bows her head, though her height meant it met the priest's eyes.
but thank you for listening, and understanding. i promise to make up for this loss, if not today then soon.

perhaps it is in her desperation when she'll find her husband, and join two kingdoms. or maybe the desperation of a struggling noble with a fine heart. yet it had already happened and she rejected it. guilt wallows. 
what does racharra want?
all she can do now is apologize, and hope for the best. perhaps she'll travel to this kingdom soon, and see what terms they can agree to.

"i trust in your mind, racharra. it is no loss to place this trust."

senmut allowed her to go then, knowing that she must be alone, and that he should seek the same.

later that evening, the former scribe drafted what he hoped to be a well-received letter in an affable tone.

the pharaoh's land of akashingo seeks to establish trade with the kingdom of hearthwood through new means. the nebet racharra requests a meeting, time and date to be chosen. the state of lady @Reverie is recognized, and a swift reply is not expected.

with this missive a gift is sent: the entire skin of a sacred white heron, purified with blood-earth incense from beside the serpent river, and inlaid with dustings of moonstone, so that it glitters when raised as a fan.

it is hoped that our gift is accepted as one of present and future goodwill.

from the intent of nebet racharra, taken down by the priest senmut. may Thoth guide your hand in royal edict.