disconcerting thoughts regarding the man-beast she beheld in the waters are bucked out of imenet's skull by her travel companion.

she nocks and shoots a side eye laced with every kind of venom she could conceive. it misses the target, and she turns to now look at the oryx looking at her in the water.

loves to hear himself speak, she thinks, digging nails into caked sand. she knew plenty men like that, who live only to accumulate boasts. hot air and empty heads. were his skull hollow, nakhtmin would be a lantern.

imenet feels the early onset of a migraine, and furiously fights it back by dipping both palms into the water, banishing any vexing shades. she splashes her face. the water is surprisingly not lukewarm at all, and imenet blows through her meaty lips, feeling the shock.

but she does not stop. with ten nimble digits, she washes her countenance in detail. every crevice, slicking back hair, and then lower. she scrubs the sand off her body, stiffing a sound of pain when she feels the sore spot blunt teeth had chafed raw. this insistently wordless cleaning - she will feign deafness if any conversation is started - goes nearly to her equally nimble feet, when she decides she's cooled enough.

one foot then another, imenet waddles into the water, until she's to the knees. the mud is cool as her toes grip it. she lets out a very equine nicker, standing still, each hand gripping opposite forearm.

she looks off in the distance, where nakhtmin did too.

what does he want with me? she asks out the blue. doesn't bother elaborating. whether her companions-captor understands or is confused, she'd be pleased.