°•° The Story °•°

Nares flares salmon scencing another. Hazels are strained to pick out the faint outline of Imotep. He liked her no more than she liked him. For a fleeing moment she thinks of running from him but knows he would only follow. Peaks rest at half mast as occuli remain fixed darkly upon the brute. Silent promise is made to herself that she would one day leave this dark place, if not in body in spirit. Deep sigh is let out. She was young, and had only seen four springs. She had hoped for a more adventures life than this. Crown is tossed lightly, there was hope yet, maybe. She knew the other vegabonds of drumming hooves would not desert their femmes.