El Aran’s ear twitched as her son spoke but she did not stop her prayer. What he said did not make any sense to her, and neither had the sentence he’d rasped on the way to the oasis. Her son was nonsensical, perhaps delirious from whatever had weakened him so badly, and so the black mare ignored him for the most part to focus on her prayer. She was much calmer now, though her body was threaded with the familiar ache that always followed her bouts of anxiety.
The seer did not have a name for her panic, of course, but she was aware it was not normal in these lands. She had never seen a horse on the Islands reach such a tense state of mind, never seen anyone react beyond the instinct typical of horses when startled or threatened. In her desert it was impossible not to see, and she added a note of thanks amidst her murmured praises that she was not one of the horses who froze and faced their deaths, paralyzed by fear, or one of those who trembled and gibbered constantly between ambushes, their voices rising both in pitch and volume until they were simply shrieking syllables as they fought and fled.
At least El Aran retained her mind.
She snorted and shifted her weight, turning her head a fraction to bring Orhan more fully into view. Her son lay sprawled like the dead next to the pool. Only the rise and fall of his ribcage indicated any life still remained in his pale body. El Aran inhaled deeply and expelled a long, soft sigh. She moved to the edge of the oasis and lay down, though she kept her head up. With Orhan mimicking her murdered kin, El Aran knew better than to stand where she would be seen as a stark silhouette as the sun began to set. Here, small and short, dark and still, there was less chance an enemy would see her. The element of surprise would be hers.
The seer watched the horizon and trembled.
el aran
Seer of Aşk. |