Two Eyes Cenote You can't buy this fineness

over the next few days, she worked on the stars of the mural above the central altar, and built further upon the items gathered. where she had put together the base with sycamore bark, now there was a curving horn from some animal (a bull, or maybe a ram, it could've been a pig's tusk for all she knew). she knelt before this and prayed for a blessing, not yet wise enough to bless things outright herself.
nazli rose after some time and patted the dust from her coat. she looked upon her work with some pride, but it was a look darkened by some wordless longing as well. her eyes turned up towards the open sky where cold clouds gathered.

tosses her at u

at some time soon to come, zaahira would be parting to return to akashingo.
she missed home dearly, as much as she had grown to appreciate the desertland. but she rose now to jodai; she would go where she was most needed by pharaoh. muat-riya was shaping up to become larger than life itself, and it lay now in the hands of eset — something about that cut her with a dull whip of pain.
the halls are oddly quiet and serene. in a room she finds nazli, alone, bathed in soft light seeping from the open ceilings. curiosity overtakes her.
you have done a good job, the sandsoldier gestures toward the intricate details of her mural, the vibrant hues. muat-riya is lucky to have such an artistic priestess.

someone draws near. jodai. her words are met with a smile and a dip of the head. thank you.

nazli fixed her coat a moment longer and then gave zaahira her full attention. one day the work will be finished. she goes on to motion at other walls.

by the entrance hall, an alcove with supplies nearby as to suggest a mural would get painted there, too. the stone plinth rising from the floor is bare.

green vines have been cleared from other segments in preparation, and lay in piles, or stretched out in sunlight to dry for other uses.

do the mazoi pray to any gods?

i am eager to see it, zaahira met the dusky eyes with a soft look of her own, followed by a curt smile. perhaps i will ask you to help me paint some other things, should you ever return to the palace.
the jodai now moves to take a seat beside her, head dipped close to the wall in order to better see the tiny strokes. some do, she quips thoughtfully. some more than others. i myself worship the Eye of Ra.

should you ever return.

nazli felt sad, suddenly, and she looked askew from her work and the warrior, who themselves was busy looking at the walls. she was thankful for that. the moment slipped by.

ah, the wedjat. they are here, and she draws the eye back to her work, to the eyes flanking either side of toula's sigil. one was for ra, the other for horus.

nazli's eye lingers upon the sigil in the center, that which made her think of home. without turning her attention away this time: i hope the gods enjoy the work as well. so that akashingo stays safe, and she turns now and smiles.

although, you do a fine job of that.

zaahira mutters a gasp of awe under her breath as her gaze finds the depiction of the wedjat-eye. i am sure They are very pleased, hemet. i believe They will reward you.
she hoped that she, too, would one day find peace beneath Their guidance.
she looks then to the collection of tokens and gifts resting at the altar's base. i have come a long way since i lived in greatwater, her ears pan outward as a lengthy pause settles in. and so have you.
to think that merely three seasons ago she was an uncaged beast! how little common she spoke, how angry she had been at the world for only existing. that woman who crawled to the palace's edge pleading for help was a stranger to her now; a faded memory. and she did not miss her.
akashingo saved me. no amount of repayment would ever be enough.

the way zaahira spoke of the lake, and of akashingo, held emotion that nazli did not share. she listened patiently as a priest might to a confessor—for isn't that what her job was, now?—and found familiarity in zaahira's devotion to the palace. she was fortunate for being welcoemd as a mazoi rather than a fellahin; fortunate also of her timing, with ramesses and his appetites gone from the land.
it is good to have a purpose, a place for oneself.
she thinks of where she might belong.
i did not fit there, at the lake. it was a mistake to follow khaba there. but she knew better now. now, nazli was careful with who she followed. it was easier to be alone and to put her faith in nwt, in hathor, in horus and ra, than any person. i am glad you found where you belong.

i do not think either of us did. the statement came with a wry chuckle. i am only glad you were able to escape before the war broke out.
she did not like to think of what could have happened if she hadn't, either.
are you happy as hemet, nazli? zaahira found herself asking. when i followed the false god, it was said that you may feel 'a call'. to preach. i think that one day, perhaps when i am too old to fight, i will retire to priesthood. but i do not know if i feel 'the call'.
and how could she? her purpose was to fight, to train, to protect; but it could only last for so long. one day, age will make her vulnerable. make the palace vulnerable. and she feared it, dreaded it, even now.
do you think we are meant to only serve one purpose?

a call? she had not felt anything like that. this remained her only use, her only way to be of value to her people and to a palace which had only ever done her harm; nazli remained loyal regardless of her history (perhaps to spite it) but there had been no word from on high or preternatural urge.
she smiled softly as these thoughts came, but she would not speak them. especially so here, where she was meant to prepare the temple.
i think... now she breathes, releasing ownership of those more dire thoughts and memories, letting her breath linger a moment as she really focused -
yes, we are meant to find our one true purpose. but that the means of which we can serve, the how and why, and who, and the details within that, can change. even that these things are expected to.
nazli had a moment that looked like clarity, then. the feeling came and went, replaced by a sensation like exposure, which made her want to retreat.

i'm so sorry for the wait on this omg. this will be the last from me <3

that is a good way of looking at it, zaahira chuffs quietly. you are a smart girl, nazli. i think you will do great things.
silence followed the pair for a while. there was little else to say or do, little else but appreciate the altar with the grace only a devout servant could offer. a silent prayer is said, whispered in her mind's eye; a prayer for the peace and protection of women.
nazli had come so far. zaahira feared she would need it.
when she takes her leave, she parts with a renewed spirit and the hope that she would one day earn a second more of nazli's time.