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Lian · (This post was last modified: 5/25/2026, 12:23 AM by Lian.)

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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?

Welcome Back!

Greetings Stranger!

Skyspear

princess of the tianlong