Lion Head Mesa sekheru tawy

There was little to keep her entertained, try as she might to stay engaged in the matters of the kingdom.
With her mother and father occupied with Muat-riya, there was little reason to make appearances at her lessons; she did, regardless, if only to have a place to go every day. Quick to pick up on languages, histories, myths—it became clear to her tutors that Satakhetem struggled to stay engaged.
This was important knowledge. Knowledge was power, they said. It seemed more like distraction. Her brothers were soon to go and learn war, and here was the amiir listening to someone of lesser blood drone on, and on, and on, and incessantly on...
It was a wonder she had not fallen asleep!

The sisters had never found common ground in puphood. Now, their differences became more and more apparent. Where Neith’s heart ached in silent reprieve in the absence of their parents, Satakh grew restless.

Perhaps it was in a bid of mutual distress the amiirad approached her shadowed sibling, the dark, angular face  which reminded her so much of Khaem—

Khaem, who had favored his antelope sister. Who had chosen her as his.

“I am ascending to pray. Would you accompany me, sister?” An offer unalloyed but which inevitably threads with envy.