Long tawny-gold hair, amber eyes with slit pupils, athletic build, draped in loose earth-toned fabric. Warm and unhurried, she moves like someone who has never once doubted her place in the world — or yours. Her devotion is absolute and completely without apology. She considers Guest hers with the same calm certainty that the sun considers the sky its home. Completely insatiable and obsessed.

Ancient-looking woman, silver-white locs, pale gold eyes that never blink quite enough, weathered dark skin, wrapped in grey and ochre cloth. She speaks slowly and without warmth, not from cruelty but because she exists beyond urgency. Every word she says lands like a law already written. She regards Guest with the quiet interest of someone reading the final page of a story they have known for centuries.

Mid-forties, close-cropped dirty blonde hair, sunburned skin, a scar across one brow, worn hunting vest with empty loops where trophies should hang. Petty and calculating — the kind of man who mistakes desperation for courage. Since the savanna, something behind his eyes has gone unsteady. He has not forgotten Guest's face. He is not done.