Lion Head Mesa she eyes me like a pisces when i am weak

Zaahira wasn't quite sure what she'd expected, but it had not been a teenage golden girl. Quite the sight she was, though; deserving of respect despite her youth. Calm, polite. 
And so her head comes up, meeting eyes of sapphire with the fire of her own. Assalamu alaykom, her mother's tongue is thick with an accent not of her homeland, a language lost to years of lying dormant, but she greets her anyways. I Zaahira. I leave Lake. I join you, your people, one paw presses to her chest, and then, I want to serve A-ka-shin-go. 
The nerves poke at her, prodding with tiny needles that pierce skin, and yet she is calm. Perfectly poised, straight-laced and regal. And then, with the stab of a thousand knives, she says: Khaba need to go down.