"The oasis," the mare said, and Orhan's ears flicked forward in surprise. He wondered if she was familiar with this place, or if she had even gone so far as to move in while he had been away on the continent. It would make sense: her coat was as sleek as any true desert horse's would be, and Orhan had been out of his mind with fever the past few days: perhaps she had been there all along, and he had simply been blissfully unaware. He exhaled heavily, grey nostrils fluttering as a breeze picked up and tousled his frosted hair.

What she said next partially confirmed his suspicions, though still there was unease and doubt nestling in his gut like a pit of snakes. He wondered with alarm if she had been there to see him at his worst, in the grips of his illness. But as he inhaled, taking in her scent with it, there was no familiarity there, nothing that stirred even the slightest inkling of deja vu. And he could not remember hearing his mother speaking to anyone in his few moments of clarity over the past few days: certainly no one called Vesti.

"Years, hm?" He decided not to press the issue, at least now. At the very least he could not deny this stranger a drink; he had not grown quite so untrusting as that. "I am Orhan, lead stallion of this desert." And that was it: no pomp, no ceremony, no exchange of breaths. He simply turned to retreat back up the dune from whence he'd come. "This way." He could feel himself relax some as the oasis and the rock that overlooked it loomed closer and closer. He made sure to give his mother space, however, leading Vesti to the far side, where he promptly took a drink to steady his nerves and give himself strength. If El Aran wished to speak with the newcomer, she could approach in her own time.

He said nothing more, instead side-eyeing the chestnut mare and mentally noting everything from her muscled build to the highlights running through her hair, and watching to see how she reacted to the presence of the thin black mare across the water.