previously...

a mighty, gold-banded antelope crosses the desert of skyspear, carrying, in his mouth, an ape in stupor.

for the first leg of their journey, she is numb. nearing sleep. the way she sways from the jaw is lulling.

second leg, and she begins to notice the chafe of teeth. her captor has her facing him - the march of forelimbs and heave of chest is nauseating.

but she knows that they are leaving.

comfort of the sands. affection of the sun.

she does not know that she is in thrall twice.

quiet. still. a perfect passenger.

awaiting her moment. biding her time.

and it arrives, when, ten paces into the plains, the animal drops her.

she makes a run for it!

crossing two impressive paces before falling, landing chin-first into the dust.

and still she tries to drag herself to the sands, hooting softly.

hooves stamp into the ground in front, sending dust into her face. she coughs. looks up -  realizes that she loathes the way this animal talks. and to her! to her of all the creatures of this world! her glare is indignant, venomous.

and in her pride, clarity.

the influence which had her so craving a scalding death rips away and retreats over the dunes back to its epicenter. she is left dizzy - familiar!

hands fly up to press into jutting forehead, as if pushing the skull back in. not long, and she's curled up in the dirt, fetal and hugged by overlong arms.

out of her come sounds of mild anguish.

ououough... w-w-why! why me! she whines into a forearm. i'm cold, then i sweat! i'm threatened, then i'm kidnapped - by a- a-

one hand, moving at the wrist, gestures repeatedly at her captor. the sentence's end doesn't come to her.

she lifts her face slightly to expose a brown eye, narrowing it to look at it - him?

what are you? she seethes. what do you want with me?

the eyelid droops. she is unimpressed. however, the word keeps to her mind. slots itself. inexplicably, the scent of cold earth is evoked.

best not think on it.

as he corrects himself, she attempts to unfurl. dizziness still has half her head. it can be fought through. she now sits, spine to the pickaxe, one hand holding the face, as if it rolling off her neck is a concern.

i see. she mumbles, rubbing wrinkled skin. what a valiant rescuer. but she won't admit it - she can tell her pride is what gave her strength to resist the spell, and she'll nourish it.

the soothing hand drops into her lap. bleary-eyed, she looks off in the distance. is that woodland she sees up ahead? the earth rises slightly. clouds drag low over the faraway peaks.

a few questions are pertinent at the moment. pride takes precedence.

i am not baboon. she grumbles.

she bristles at his breath, as offended as he is not.

she faces him with pouted lip, mouth then opening for an aggressive isn't it obvious-

none of it comes out, as she realizes that first of all, she does not know.

visibly stumped for a moment, next she turns away.

it doesn't matter. her hand waves a dismissal. but i am not some pet monkey. you should be able to tell. she crosses her arms and hmph's.

there are still the pertinent questions.

... what kind of spell? the defiance thaws, somewhat. whose work was it- why were you not affected?

an implied insult.

what is hidden.

her back still turned, her expression is unease. she'd loathe to be given anything by this fingerless beast bound in scratched gold. she'd loathe more to accept it.

imenet's arms are crossed in a self-soothing hug. her gaze travels miles across the scenery ahead of them. thrice now, he'd spoken of a single man.

pharaoh. she repeats. face turns. is he a powerful man?

then she presses, twisting the spine.

why isn't he here, where you said his throne is? why north?

there is an odd compulsion to denigrate a king.