The skinny young stallion watched solemnly as Vesti stared across at his mother. Tension sat in his gut like a heavy log as he followed her gaze to briefly glance at El Aran himself, then back at the chestnut mare, just in time to meet her eye. There was a strange, almost questioning look in their dark depths, and Orhan thought he understood. He blew out of his nostrils and followed Vesti into the shade, keeping a comfortable distance between them just in case she was the kicking sort. Flies danced across the mirrored surface of the water before them, and Orhan flicked his two-tone tail to keep them at bay.

“That is my mother, El Aran,” he said quietly, so that El Aran would not hear, but the aging mare was so vigilant that he half-expected her to hear anyway. “We were the only ones here for a long time. I am surprised we never saw you.” He neglected to tell Vesti that both he and El Aran had abandoned the desert at one point, each in their own time and for different reasons, but if the mare was keen-minded, no doubt she could at least partially figure that out on her own, from the patchiness of his buttermilk coat.

Thoughtfully, he raised his head and looked up into the cloudless blue sky. His stomach was grumbling with complaint – for he had not eaten much all day – and he itched all over, and the lightning-bolt wound on his leg was tingling strangely, but he resisted the urge to relieve them all, uncertain as he was in the presence of this stranger. “So, why have you come here, instead of returning to the dunes? Were you looking for something?” He asked, and turned to look at Vesti with one keen, questioning eye.