At the time of her death, Satdjehuti was a young woman—maybe fifteen, perhaps a little older. Still far too old in the eyes of us children, so we spent little time with her. She worked alongside My mother and father, though. I was rarely allowed to sit in on these discussions, not that I was particularly interested in them.
Though the role was unofficial, Satdjehuti was Kul Elna's main strategist. She knew how to write numbers and some basic words related to documentation and time-keeping, making her one of the most well-educated in the village. If she were born today, she might grow up to be a master mathematician, perhaps an engineer. She certainly had the talent and love of numbers.
Instead, she was the one who had all relevant patrol schedules memorized. It was rare for her to go on a heist or do any stealing herself, but she got a fair share of the spoils. Without her intimate knowledge of timekeeping and her elaborate planning, we probably wouldn't have eaten half so well, after all. There was a rumor going around that she had been blessed by her namesake, Djehuti, himself, who appeared to her in dreams to whisper his secret knowledge.
Of course, a god of ma'at would never stoop so low as to consort with Thieves like us. But I admit that she did have a seemingly supernatural knowledge of seasons and timekeeping and schedules of strangers.
I have told the story of Hapimen, correct? Satdjehuti was his wife, the one that nagged him often. She was the one who kept them from hunger, I suppose, rather than the other way around. They had quite the age difference, and had only been wed for a year or two when the soldiers came. She never got pregnant in that time, and I don't know whether she wanted to be. Funny, the pair the two of them made, considering how Hapimen was so fanciful and Satdjehuti was literal-minded. Still, I think they were happy.
Ah, and I nearly forgot to mention that she was missing several fingers on her left hand. I wish she'd stayed alive long enough to tell Me the story behind that, since when I was a child I never got to ask. I can question her now, of course, but all she howls in response is the usual pained cry for revenge. I suppose it doesn't matter, considering that her entire hand is dead and melted like the rest of her. Tch…