the thin cloud that was satsu now condensed to a familiar form: petite, silver-blue, with her three tails trailing after her as they disappeared in to mist. her masked face looks to be dripping shadow; where her eyes should sit, there are sunken pits of black. two eerie, disembodied lights — like little firebugs of blue — dance in her periphery.
the sun does not last long; four hours, maybe. between the drizzle and onset of earlier and earlier nights, it seemed a most unholy place. perhaps this is why ahemait has spit her out. satsu does not know why she roams these deadlands, except that she does, and she continues her hunt for her children.
a son, dead. a daughter, missing. one returned, but without the blessing to see her. ashikaga must grow stronger! satsu was determined to see this through somehow. how much time could she delay returning to be judged by ma'at?
the sun does not last long; four hours, maybe. between the drizzle and onset of earlier and earlier nights, it seemed a most unholy place. perhaps this is why ahemait has spit her out. satsu does not know why she roams these deadlands, except that she does, and she continues her hunt for her children.
a son, dead. a daughter, missing. one returned, but without the blessing to see her. ashikaga must grow stronger! satsu was determined to see this through somehow. how much time could she delay returning to be judged by ma'at?
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