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For Satriya joining Merneith Khaemwaset for visibility

He travels and night, following the stars, his pace a slow limp. He is in no particular rush, and the ache in his limb has sent him to search for some herbs that might've soothed it. He was not forsaking the desert, because he would never be able to do so, for all the blood he'd lost to the sand, but for now, he would seek reprieve from the searing heat and endless wastes. Verdant pastures were ahead, where he could rest and find water. The smells of others here did little to deter him, he would use his words, or he would fight.

He did not want to fight. He could still taste the iron of the last bandit he'd slain between the grooves of his teeth. The world was far too evil a place, it needed pruning.

He wished to believe the stars guided him here for a reason, but any belief from him was half-hearted, and veiled with an anticipation for only the worst of outcomes.

Night revives Neith from the oppressive scorch of day, the lengthy desert journey having left her chaste paws lanced and red. She navigates the copse with careful consideration but bears the pain as a trial from Set. Her flesh would harden and thicken and she would no longer be a fragile palace girl but a queen who walks the land beside her people. Even in her tender months the amiirad was moved by such ideas. Despite Khaem’s guilt, she could not truly mourn their erstwhile kingdom when the prospect of their own forays lay ahead.

Over a small stream she sips and investigates her wounds, dipping the soles two-at-a-time to be cleansed in coolness. Little is detected beyond the brook’s gentle trickle, but a near scent draws her eyes to the boughs ahead.

“Hello,” she greets in egyptian, without sight and not needing it, for somehow the stranger’s essence is known to her.

A woman's voice, honeyed and smooth, spoken in a tongue he recognized, but weakly understood. He hadn't heard it spoken since the oasis was abandoned, and Samirseti's return to Ta Senet. He stepped out of the brush and to the edge of the stream, where she washed her aching soles, and dipped his head in silent greeting, his words of common tongue.Hello He murmured, a gentle night breeze came to ruffle the furs of his neck, before he spoke again in a tempered, cool tone. I hope I'm not intruding. I was looking for water and shade. The desert heat has become... too extreme to travel through.

He watches her where she sits, the gentle trickling of streamwater filling the night air. There is a semblance of something familiar about her, but he is lost on where the feeling comes from.

Sweeping to her feet, Neith studies the moon’s silvering of his quiet shape. His is not a face she knows. She must have been mistaken.

“Come,” the queen welcomes all the same, “you are not intruding. Every traveler is owed a drink and a moment’s peace here.” She gestures to the stream with her chin, then returns her attention to the man, his crooked gait, and his striking two-toned eyes. His scent is dry, wearied, but not offensive. So many of them carried the heaviness of Re’s blaze upon their pelts.

Neith makes a little room along the embankment beside her, a place her stranger could rest, if he chose.

"I'm Merneith. My people and I are sheltering here while the heat endures, but we do not own these lands."

He was hesitant at first, tentative, but he sensed no deceit or sideways intent, and he moved as she offered the space for him, weary haunches meeting the earth next to her— though careful not to infringe on her space, even as he shifts his leg to rest comfortably beneath him. He lowers himself to drink a few moments, their skewed reflections rippling across the pool, fading into indecipherable shadows along the waters surface. She is called Merneith, and he leaves her in a silence a few too many seconds long before speaking for himself— inwardly cursing his solitary existence for this moment of ineptitude. Ah- It's good to meet you Merneith, and thank you.. for being hospitable. I am Nokht.

She is made of ivory and sandstone, with eyes of vibrant scarlet that look upon him with an openness that sets his mind at ease, but the regality of such features is entirely lost on him. I was living with a settlement at an oasis far... south.. or maybe east of here, but it did not last.

He gives a shrug, and lets the cool breeze wash over his form. I find wandering to be less complicated. He remarks, though it wore on his body and his mind.

“I suppose— it is complicated,” her lips twitch.

Nothing in the courts was simple. Each life was a piece upon a greater board, maneuvering, contending, competing for the light of Pharaoh’s favor. And yet, the queen knew no other life. She had been reared upon just such a tableau and felt its allure still; the councils and embassies, the names of lords and ladies, the careful parry of power and the eye of gods who leaned close to watch.

Such a life was not for everyone— and part of her strove to imagine the quieter ways beyond its reach.

“I too am not from here. My natal kingdom fell to ruin.” It strikes her just how seamlessly she can speak of Akashingo— as if its impact was left in the past when truly she felt the pain of loss each day.

A paw christens the creek’s surface.

“How long has it been? Since you’ve been— alone?”