Luneshale Pass season of the witch

I pray to Sekhmet every day. I pray She protects us.
For there was reason for everything, and Rashepses' presence among the halls of Akashingo was necessary for some lesson. The people were meant to listen; listen for something, some sort of crow's omen shaded in moonlight, and this Zaahira believes to her core.
The Gods, Dove, are wise. They work in mysterious ways, I have learned, yes? They give good and bad signals that we must heed as Their servants, Zaahira's head lowers, chin pressed now to the sun-dappled ochre of her chest. we should not turn our backs and assume They do all work. And we must shun those who believe themselves above Them.
A glaze falls over her eyes.
Watch them, Dove, and keep Sekhmet close to your heart. See that their intentions are pure. They will not be truthful to me. a snarl, hard as obsidian, stretches across her tone; though not directed at the mazoi. If trouble arises, or if they break our laws, you will tell me. And I will alert our Queen. She will do as needed. I believe she would not choose a man who will harm us.