It is no small thing, inviting oneself in to the confines of the goddess' quarters.

The serpent is a skilled spy. She is small enough to be missed, silent, and carries within her grasp a swift defense mechanism. There is no reason for Satakhetem to think she is being observed except in the case of her guards, who are often present just outside of her space, and that alone keeps her from voicing any of her thoughts aloud.

It also means she is oblivious to the approaching danger, if Ashait decides to take matters in to her own power.

Satakhetem rolls over to one side, then to her front, and sits up. She does it simply to have movement. It is boring here with all of this finery, and without anyone to keep her company. The fear she believes she has instilled within her siblings has caused a distinct rift between them. An unfortunate side-effect of the truth.

A sigh ruptures the air; the woman surveys her room, perhaps considering further changes, when she takes note of the surprising shine to a particular patch of shadow. A smile draws across her face, finally.

Mazoi, she does not know the serpent's name, and did not care for it during their transit of the sands.

Now though, there is a spark of interest.