The more the sorrel mare spoke, the more pleased El Aran was that Orhan had brought the chestnut mare with the blonde highlights to their oasis. She didn’t speak for the sake of hearing her own voice and gave El Aran’s questions more than two seconds of thought before replying with intelligent answers. First impressions were important and while it was possible that the qualities the black mare found appealing in her companion would disappear as time when on, she didn’t think it was likely.
The amount of time Vesti had been on Salem was impressive. Even more astounding was that it had taken this long for the two of them to meet, although perhaps it was not all that surprising, given how infrequently El Aran left the oasis. The seer nodded when Vesti compared her experience with stallions to driftwood, and murmured a quiet, "We deserve better," in agreement. Men were inconstant and undependable in these lands. El Aran did not mind, much. She had grown up in a place where each individual was expected to be able to fend for themselves— because no one could be expected to fight for more than their own lives in a battle, at the risk of making themselves vulnerable to severe injury and death. Her herd had fought together but only in the sense that they were all engaged in an activity at the same time. Each time an aggressor was driven back, the defensive horse would flee. On occasion three or four of her herd would band together to drive a single horse back in the defense of a foal, but El Aran had not seen them work together to fight back until they had been driven to the very edge of the desert.
The hot plains had been no safer than the sands, but at least their herd knew how to fight the enemy with hooves.
El Aran arched her neck, flexing her muscles as she dispelled the memories. Vesti had mentioned being stolen by someone, and the black mare felt a hint of suspicion uncurl in the back of her mind. She did not believe in coincidences, and while there were likely more differences than similarities between her and Vesti, their lives seemed to have followed the same path on the islands. Each had been stolen, and each had settled on Salem for a long, long time.
"I do not count the seasons," she said. There had been no point when she was growing up, not in a land where any day could be her last. It hadn’t occurred to her to start counting when she arrived at the Islands of the Lost, although she did notice the changes that occurred to the weather over the course of a year. "But I would guess I have been here for... ah." She glanced back at Orhan again. How old was he? El Aran felt she had been in the Desert for at least twice as long as he’d been alive. Iskelet would be... Well. She didn’t really keep track of her son’s ages, either. "Long enough," she finished. "I was born in a desert, and though I have settled for a time in other places, it feels as though I have never truly left the sands."
El Aran turned her head and looked past Orhan. Her son was a familiar fixture in the Desert and seemed as natural as the tall rocks that bordered the back end of the oasis. The sunlight had intensified to a hot orange off the horizon as it lowered itself. Night was approaching.
She faced the sorrel mare. "Welcome to the Desert, Vesti," El Aran said before she turned and wandered over to her son. The seer reached out to nibble his mane for a moment but soon retreated to the other side of the pool to prepare for her nightly vigil.
el aran
Seer of Aşk. |