Issret raised her head and pointed her ears down the hall.  Dust motes drifted in the sunlight which picked out the faded colors of the tapestries.

Nothing stirred.

Issret lay her head on a pillow of spun silver.  Her eyes were slits of gold.  Her body was still on her hoard.

Her ears caught a tiny sound, no more than the scratch of a mouse.

She roared into the air, claws extended and teeth flashing.  She would shred the intruder–add it’s body to the dust carpeting the floor.