She carries on with her work, ignoring a heaviness in limbs and bursts of colorful spots which sometimes cloud her sight. Through every audience, every procession, and each moment between obligations, she is speaking to Khaem's children, telling them all about their palace and of the nursery they’d prepared in the sunlit room across the hall from the Chamber of Garnets. She speaks about every inhabitant of satriya, in detail, their quirks and lovelinesses.
She tells them that mother and father have built the substance of their own dreams, that their daddy had planted a garden for her where they will one day chase and play. It sows again in Neith’s mind that reality is not confined to what the eye alone perceives— that their world is full of magic. A thought which settles more firmly by the curious figure slumped beside her painted warrior.
Neith’s countenance is serene. It is in her eyes where curiosity roves.
“Whom have you brought to us, mazoi Nakhtmin?”




