Nakhtmin did not cower. Not even in strange sands, with strange foes atop a ridgeline.

He was a beast of the deshret; he had endured the raging moods of Set in all the god's favorite afflictions — and no other mortal, or spirit, or demon, could contend with the skymetal bones of Ra's defender, in the land of the Outsider's inheritance. With the protection of Set assured, what then was there to fear!

Tossing the spears upon his head with a mighty bellow, Nakhtmin reared and stomped the ground, showing them all that he was strong and fierce and well-blooded in many past contests of will. Weariness faded as his heart clamoured for battle. Just the thing to wake him from this dreary march! Yes! He would shatter their line upon the hill!

The painted warrior charged.