i can't really take the sun

the beach sands were not too dissimilar from the desert sands, if she focused on it.

racharra walks along the shoreline of this new land of the reeds. her chin ran along the stalks that tempted the fringes of the land. she was used to the shelter of the mesa; to be left in the open embrace of the sun was, surprisingly enough, uncommon. but it was bearable. the palms made it so.

across she could eye another isle. another shoreline, with tall peaks. it was a view familiar to her, in only in its imitation of home. with the passage of time she could convince herself that this was the same horizons she would gaze at from the palace balconies.
she'd died with too many things left incomplete. in the divine lands of the reeds, the young woman was unconvinced she wasn't still mortal.

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Unlike Racharra, Taliba had never seen the ocean in their past life.

The ogre-girl watched the noblewoman from afar. Racharra's ashen coat a striking contrast to the warm coastal sands and the vibrant blue ocean. The reed's danced against the noble's long coat, twirling with her passage.

Just as she had when she was small, Taliba found Racharra enchantingly beautiful. Small no longer, Taliba still possessed a child's envy. A nagging insecurity that told her that she was brutish in comparison to almost every woman she met. The thin, willowy desert wolves and those that carried the narrow features of the coyote were far more fair that herself. Homely; that was what Taliba believed she was. Racharra gave the half-ogre hope that one day she may perhaps be at least pretty.

Her approach is gentle, as not to startle the far away expression on Racharra's face. Her head lowered in reverence to the nebet's rank.

“Lady Racharra, are you alright?”

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a small voice breaks crashes her train of thought — and thank Ra for it. racharra dons a gentle smile when she turns to meet with little taliba. the red girl bowed her head, and racharra bobbed her own.
were you alright? racharra tilted her head to side.  “there's no need to be so formal, little one.” we're sisters. but taliba wouldn't know that. but could she? even as just a secret between ogres? or would that put too much into question — what made racharra a nebet and taliba a mazoi. the red girl was fated to be the royal guard, which was better than a typical grunt. and the girl would excel at it. racharra could see it in the strength of her graceful walk. she knew it because it was her own.

her tail parts a wedge in the sand, and her dark arm gestures to sit. “do you enjoy it here, taliba?” the tide swept against their feet, gentle and welcoming. grass danced in the wind and their fur joined it. they were surrounded by peace and serenity — a welcomed change, but still.  a change, and a change racharra at least will have to learn again. 

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From her subservient posture, Racharra would first see the smile in Taliba's eyes before she lifted her chin and grinned at the Nebet.

“I'm trying to be a bit more polite after barging into your room, you are a Lady after all.”

With the formalities aside, the ogre-gril's tail wagged gently as she took a place at Racharra's side. She flexed her toes, splaying them into the sand. A cold shiver ran up her limbs as the ocean lapped lazily at their feet. For a moment, Taliba remained mesmerized watching the seafoam well in the tracks her paws left behind. The pushing, pulling, and sifting of the sand and the sound that accompanied was a foreign melody to the half-ogre. It was one the endeared itself into her heart. The rustle of the wind brought with it dancing grasses that animated the sand with their shadows.

Earnestly, Taliba turned her face to Racharra, a spark of wonder playing within her eyes.

“It's beautiful.”

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