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Tlantli is by Alaine!
Imhotep had taken to their ritual with ease, Tlantli saw. He promised intelligence in assuring his wounds would not become infected, and on the contrary -- he shared with her his aspirations of tending to the wounds of Salsola. The flaxen coyote guffawed as the sandy-shaded man shared this with her, a razor-toothed grin splitting her golden-yellow muzzle. She wondered if he would act as Curandero, one of the trio of healers and medics within the pack, and thought it best not to inquire directly.
Yes, yes -- it would not do to have a healer get sick with blood fever. Stay healthy, please, the coyote advised, still grinning faintly. You do this ritual good, she complimented. Her speech was slowed in accordance with his own, each word carefully enunciated. She wished to be understood, and it was only polite when speaking across such language barriers. Imhotep said he was from Egypt, a revelation which caused her nose to wrinkle. She did not know where Egypt was, but Imhotep had asked her a question; she could delay her own to provide an answer to his. She considered it carefully. Eterne and Salsola were so very similar -- both were places steeped in false tradition and empty ritual. Both would fall before her family; neither Eterne not Salsola would exist longer than the Kimaris family.
Yes, and no, the coyote said, rolling her shoulders. I think your home is different, yes? Just by looking at you, I think this. Eterne is the same way. We speak different language -- el idioma español, she said, the Spanish flowing from her tongue easily. What language you speak in this Egypt place, and where is it, exactly? She had already provided him the answer of where Eterne was, and she expected a general answer, as she had provided -- Tlantli was not intimately familiar with the world map, and had never taken much interest in maps and charts, besides, and she would be able to grasp only a general answer, in any case. Across the sea?
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