Amduat had sometimes felt more sister to storms than she had her own flesh and blood. Where Amunet was thoughtful, Amduat was reckless. When Amunet could seek out peace, Amduat only wanted war. The only thing they seemed to have in common was their inclination for violence and cruelty where it was demanded. Sometimes, they wore it better than their own skin.
That was why she had felt at home in the peak. They did not try to stifle her restless nature or her propensity for ruthlessness; they fed it with an eagerness that she relished. They had made her feel at home, wanted, more than she had ever felt in the dunes of her birth. More than Amunet had ever felt at home, and she knew that was what had brought her there and, in turn, why she was now there.
Today though, she had been wandering the lands outside of the peak. Her amazonian sisters were good company, but sometimes it was stifling to be on top of each other so much. Sometimes, you needed fresh new faces. Different conversation. She drifted through the stiff grasses, now dead with the first touch of frost, before she saw her. The girl looked haunted, and although her mother had always warned her of ghosts, Amduat approached.
”Are you lost?”
AMDUAT.