Something — no, someone; Setemhotep stepped in front of her, halting her movements, and for a moment, she sees a spark in those sunstone eyes — Amaris? They remind her of him so briefly, she wants to reach out and stay with him in that moment, but the rotting corpse calls so delightfully. And all in all, it is not Amaris, only a replica of his eyes, and now that she squints, they are not the same shimmer of gold like her twin's. And like anyone in a trance, she is dazed, You aren't Amaris. She muttered, simply disregarding him as she side-stepped, her former want of wanting to keep Setemhotep's attention had faded. And now all she is interested in is sinking her canines into the weasel's bloated carcass.

The hunger from the Highlands returns, the gripping skin across her ribs and the ache, and the body lying nearby is like the first food she's seen in months, and this pipsqueak isn't going to stop her from it. Even though bones in her body feel sluggish, weak, like a force trying to hold her back, she simply disregards them, like the emotions she had been feeling for months. It wasn't so hard when you had lots of practice. With diligence and practiced motion, she side-stepped Setemhotep, she'd been a decent warrior in her youth (if that meant evading annoyed crows after being the antagonist). After that, it was easy to cross the distance and take the first delicious bite of what The Five had provided her.