they make swift time. the south is not warm in the way ashait remembers the desert, but Ra's light comes weakly now from between the clouds. no doing of Apep can block Pharaoh from the eye of the Divine, and it is with pleasure that she emerges, brushing snow from the thick cover of osiris' coat.

the Skyspear seems a fitting seat for the chosen of Ra. rejoined with some measure of good humor in the face of the sun, she eases herself down the slope of the lion's shoulders to cool desert sand, and tastes the air with curious tongue.

"there are none who bow with such spirit as nakhtmin," she says, resolving to find the time to watch the spar that will surely take place. Satiset's erstwhile shield is not easily dissuaded when he sets eyes upon a new target.