| skill

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can be backdated, if necessary | accompanied by Taro | for anyone in satriya, potentially for Merneith

Springtime storms and a lacking sense of direction - all of the landmarks were entirely novel to her - had set back the Princess' efforts to return to her Dynasty. But she was closer than ever, now, she was sure. The desert welcomed her, the last trial to traverse before the lush garden of the Dynasty was hers to call home once more. Lian couldn't wait, if for no other reason than to finally put her father's worries to rest. Well, that and a bath, and ripening persimmon fruit, and jasmine and spiderlily flowers to crush into perfume and adorn her fur. It was a vision delightful enough to keep her pawsteps airy and visage cheerful, even as the sand scouring the dunes ground away at her resolve.

Among the endless seas of gold grains, something new caught the lotus' keen eye. A towering structure, glittering in the sun. Her paws carried her toward its flickering allure, like mirage on the horizon, before scent-markers stopped her trail cold well before reaching the Skyspear's base.

A pack had formed here. The princess' nose twitched as she took in the numerous scents. A healthy pack, large in number and routine in their maintenance of the borders. There was some familiarity in the scents, but Lian's focus alit upon her end-goal of home Perhaps directions could be given, and if not, it would be best to to return to Tianlong with news of distant neighbors. Knowledge was power, as they said. The lotus sent up a crisp, polite bark - unobtrusive, but carrying the self-assuredness of a summons. Then she set about attempting to mask the wear of her travels, shaking dust from her paws and arranging windswept fur into neat strands. Lian offered a final glance to her accompaniment, a reassuring smile upon her features to set her guard at ease. They would just ask this pack's name, and then if they knew the way to Tianlong, and then they'd be on their way. Nothing to worry over.

Sitamun.
Like a thing obsessed, he could not get her from his mind.
It impeded his work. It impeded his want to be away from the palace overlong.
Yet he would not be drawn into the wedding preparations; they were not his wheelhouse, nor did he pretend to hold an opinion for one floral arrangement or another. He owed a rare measure of gratitude to the queen’s insistence— perhaps the only flicker of warmth he had ever permitted himself toward Khaemwaset’s otherwise fruitless wife.
He continued his circuit of the parapets, tail set high as he trotted out toward those who had approached into the courtyard below.
Only a girl, it seemed, yet appealing in her bearing and softened by grace, flanked in guards and attendants. Sapair fixed his attention, an imprint of royalty evident.
“Who has come upon the domain of Pharaoh?”

1/5 | orator

Her summons was answered swiftly, as Lian had expected. Apprehension fluttered within the princess' heart, only a fleeting moment of it. No perfume to adorn her fur. No flowers and gold-set jewels to emphasize her beauty. She had little of the armor women like her were fit to wear, only the shield and sword that were her smile and demure angle of her shoulders, the straightened line of her shoulders.

The man who approached had the stern visage and plodding gait of a general. Pharaoh, he pronounced like a decree in itself, and Lian's stomach sank. The Egyptians, again?! She'd still been under the impression the frightening caravan was still claiming the lovely island of wisteria, far from here. The harsh light of the desert, the ominous geometric statue cutting through the azure tapestry of the sky - Lian thinks this suits what very little she knows of their kind better, though.

The princess affixes her gaze upon the copper guardian of these foreign lands, gaze bright and enchanting as a gold coin shimmering in the sun. Her ears remain pinned demurely, though, every feature of her posture arranged like a decorative bouquet. Princess Téng Lian of the Tianlong. She doesn't know yet what her full title, spoken smoothly, will buy her. Or cost her. Lian regrets not being able to approach the Pharaoh as a proper emissary of the Tianlong - this sort of visit should be accompanied by a princess gilded with the heavens themselves, with gifts and riches aplenty to dazzle and woo these foreigners into favorable relations.

The Crystal Dragon has led her here, from strange meadows through dark forests and now across scalding desert. This is where Lian is meant to be, even unfit as she is for the task.

Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?

These things too were not unnoticed by the jodai, whose office it was to observe every detail. An emissary from a wealthy kingdom would arrive in grand fashion. But he found himself enchanted by the young voice; the smooth and pliant beauty of a woman devoid of hard edges, and dipped his chin in reverence of high blood.
“Welcome, princess. I am Sapair, commander of the army for Khaemwaset Khafraemka-wehemibre, Pharaoh of Satriya. You seek an audience with the divine?”
If she affirmed, he would lead the princess and her retinue first towards the subterranean pools.

1/5 | orator

The general introduces himself, speaks of the Pharaoh. Though they both speak in the common tongue, the titles and names thrown around are a mash of foreign syllables that blur together in Lian's ears. Her lashes flutter as she parses through them, porcelain features unmoving. Khaemwaset, the Pharaoh. Lian turns the name over in her mind. When the time comes to speak it, and this Pharaoh's praises for his hospitality, she will not trip over the strange word.

Sapair offers her an audience. Lian's ears pricked, a little surprised by the offer, pleased by it and very much interested. Yes, please. Her agreement is all that's required. Lian follows at the copper commander's heels, keeping him in her periphery as she stares in measured awe at the Egyptian's palace. A strange land, and a strange people.

But Lian knows that strangers is only a static role when one puts forth no effort. She lengthens her stride slightly, until she flanks Sapair and can catch a glimpse of the sharp planes of his face.

Has Satriya built all of this? And in so little time! They must have talented architects indeed! Lian suspects the pyramid must have been standing when they arrived; she is very aware of the physical limitations of this world, so different from her own. How will the general see fit to answer? Will he seek to bloat Satriya's impressive retinue of skills with over-exaggeration, or emphasize the role of their gods in the pack's prosperity? Her haste to return home and weary paws are problems that shift to the back of her mind, the curiosities of this strange land capturing the girl's attention entirely.

Jodai displayed a near proprietary pride in the works and open galleries, and the acacia and tamarisk which framed the promenade in shade for cornflower, jasmine and papyrus. At the very center was the axis of earth and sky, the obelisk with its reach into heaven ornamented by a pure gold capstone.
“Yes, princess. The altars and shrines were raised by the fellahin, the gardens sewn and tended by the paw of Pharaoh himself.”
He did not lead the tianlong girl into the throne room, where Pharaoh and queen sat in court, but instead into an arched chamber where water streams into wide pools.
“You may wish to bathe.” The guard spoke, calling for one fellahin to assist her while another brought down a selection of furs from the stores: oryx, antelope, and barbary sheep. Sapair would wait in the hall.

2/5 | orator

Days have been spent in the desert, her pawpads threatening to callous or - spirits forbid - crack after so many steps upon scalding grains of sand. The wind has yanked on her fur. The sun has threatened to roast the tips of her ears, the moist tip of her nose. Lian was an appreciator, curator, of that which was beautiful. And she had been of a mind to determine the desert was wholly barren of anything worthy of her exacting standards and broad palette.

Pharaoh's oasis seeks to correct the course of her opinion. It is a real interest that is affixed upon the architecture, the gardens, the gilded halls and the murals that adorn them, and so Lian is a rapt audience for Sapair's pride. Fellahin have raised the altars while their god-king himself has planted the lush gardens! Lian is charmed, certainly, by the latter detail before others. Ah, beautiful. The influence of the divine is evident in these gardens. She compliments. Lian is careful to avoid any opportunity for accidental insult, even if she knows these gods to be inferior to the majesty of the Crystal Dragon, or the Soaring Crane.

The baths sprawl before her, and the princess' gaze gleams with delight and relief. Very much so, She must admit truthfully to Sapair. The general waits in the hall, and Lian's dependable guardian is relegated to that space as well as the princess sinks into the cool waters and the care of the dutiful fellahin. Whether servants or slaves, she hasn't yet entirely deduced, but she suspects the former. Perhaps just to shield her own heart from a darker reality.

The care of the Satriya will incur an expectation for a returned investment, Lian expects. But to deny these gifts is to incur wrath. Lian accepts graciously, with the measured poise befitting her royal blood. She is bathed, dried in the desert air, styled and perfumed in foreigner's scents that dazzle her senses. The coolness of the baths lifts the weariness of her travels and her absence from her family's circle out of her bones. Lian laments, privately, that this privilege is denied Taro, who has traveled just as hard as she! The hairpins and flowers that are her signature are absent, but a pelt of barbary is chosen to shelter her shoulders, the sandy golden color intended to accentuate the gilt shades of her fur and brightened eyes.

The Tianlong's Lotus sweeps back into the hallway, strands of her pelt fluttering on the breeze, chin high and spirits lifted. Her gaze searches for Sapair and pins upon the copper commander's form with focused intensity. Taro is expected to fall into lockstep at her side. He has not failed her yet. I am eager to express my gratitude to my host. A slight incline of her head. Lian bears no gifts, no jewels drip from her pelt, but she is a daughter of the Téng. It is dragon's blood in her veins. Shall we?

---

skippable!

She was transformed, cleansed of the road and burnished to splendor, gleaming with all the radiant finery he associated with goddesses. How such a delicate perfection might be perceived beneath the gaze of Pharaoh he would yet behold.
“This way, princess.”
Through the great halls he guided, past colonnades of stained ochre and beneath ceilings strewn with Nut’s stars upon fields of sapphire-blue. Bronze censers still breathed old ribbons of myrrh and kyphi into the air while servants pressed themselves flat against carved walls to clear their path.
Ahead, the throne room opened beneath its vast domed canopy, where at the far end, elevated upon stairs of pale stone, stood the thrones of horus and iset.
Courtiers and petitioners were parted at the captain’s approach to permit ample passage for the lady of Tianlong and those who attended her. In the center of the hall, jodai bowed.
“Here is Princess Téng Lian of the Tianlong, come for an audience to the palace and court of Pharaoh Khaemwaset Khafraemka-wehemibre, and his Great Royal Wife, Satriya Merneith.”
From here, jodai took up bulwark post to the left side of Pharaoh’s plinth.

Eyes re-open. Everything is blurred. Her breaths are so resonant in her ears that they seem the loudest thing in the room. She is so precariously close to tears. For the ugliness of how she’d spoken to Satakhetem, and the ashes between them. How her sister had cursed that fate was cruel and never random.

What Satakhetem did not know was that Neith, cruelest judge of her own thoughts, intents, and silent hatreds, had already begun to believe it.

The gods have not chosen you for that, sister.

The face she summons is so calm as to give the impression of a kind of benediction. On. this day she will not speak first or assert herself, only wait to catch all the words and the moods of others. She would be a passive listener.

And if the gods had mercy on her ka, they would make the voices thunderous.

New arrivals are admitted ahead of the petitioners. Neith watches their ascent of the long hall, heart an invariable twist behind serene pretense.