Her accent was peculiar. But then, he supposed his must be, too. Hotep tilted his head, considering her words. Though practiced enough in Common to converse casually, and with a few important phrases memorized, it was not done without effort. He perceived an introduction, an apology, and a question.

After a moment, he replied, There is no intrusion, Ai-lee-ahhca-loo-sum, spirit-walker of Elysium. Many come from the sands, called by the gods. Could she be such a one? She bore sun-spun golden fur, blessed by Ra. Elysium he knew. Neighboring lands in his life before used this word to speak of Duat. It seemed reasonable then, she might be one reborn like a scarab into this new world. Perhaps she did not know Pharaoh because, like Hotep, her mind was still fogged from the journey here.

Turning to the side, he made a path down the steep rocks toward her, desert-hardened feet sure of their path despite his skeletal frame outlined in sharp relief by Khonsu’s light. Yes, Pharaoh is King and more. He is a son of Atum-Ra, the Horus, sweet-smelling divinity itself. Our intermediary. Divine Queen, too, descends from gods. The will of Pharaoh is the will of Satriya. Small paws landed on soft podzol. He searched her face for any recognition. A sesh is… He pursed his lips, thoughtful, A healer of bodies, and soother of souls. I keep wisdom. He bowed.