The sun continues is ascent, and as a result the desert begins to heat up. She can taste the dryness in the air, taste the thirst in it. For a moment, she wonders if these badlands would ever be a suitable empire at all with the lack of water, plants, and prey, but of course these things are not necessities but rather luxuries. Her people could starve, that's fair, but alas she'd be queen; little else mattered. The ruler of a dying state is still a ruler.
"Some were born to rule. Some were born to serve." Leera dips her chin slightly. That much is true, she knows, but the deciding factor does not come down to godsblood. There is no such things as godsblood.
The femme drags her tongue across her maw again, thinking, narrowed pink eyes fixed somewhere in the distant dunes before them as they walk. "What do you know about ruling an empire, Leera?" The question excites her; a corner of her soul squeezes with lust. "I know that it cannot be done with a soft hand," she muses coldly, but the flick of her tail says she's having fun with this. "Would you agree with me, Nephthys?"
Continuing south on silent paws, her mind buzzes. It's almost as if all of their talk about power has intoxicated her so much that she's seeing white. "I also know that it doesn't take much to separate the strong-minded from the weak. In fact, sometimes actions as seemingly little as the way one chooses to hunt can tell me if they're worthy of a throne." Her ears tick back and she glances toward Nephthys, lips curling up into a challenging grin. "Passing through, I saw some elk in one of the southern forests: you'll kill one with me. I'm dying to see how that godsblood holds up against a mortal when it comes down to tooth and claw."
-exit to challenge-
Leera is a mature character.
Force/violence is permitted within reason.
Plot with us here!
