It was a bright, mercilessly hot day, and the recent rains had flooded the oasis, making its banks swell until they lapped at the base of the sheltering sandstone boulder that flanked there western-most side. With the shadiest place in the entire desert under water, Orhan had taken to dozing beneath the slim shadows of the few trees that bordered the oasis. They did not provide much relief, but thankfully he was not adverse to getting a little wet, so today – given it was so hot he could swear his eyeballs were sizzling in their sockets – he had returned to his usual place, reclining gratefully in the cool, shaded water beneath the boulder. Flies buzzed incessantly about his eyes and ears, but he was used to that. The young stallion was serene, with half-closed eyes staring dreamily across the shimmering surface of the water.

This was how he spent most of his time as of late. As he grew older, Orhan found that he shared less and less of his mother’s extreme vigilance, and so he had grown complacent; he could remember regarding her as a boy, when he half-believed she was possessed of supernatural senses – that she saw and heard and smelled terrible things he would never know about – and that that was why she spent almost every waking moment of her day keeping a tense lookout. Yet all he saw now was how years of looking for a danger that was not there had wearied El Aran. Orhan did not want to end up like that; he did not want to end up joyless and aged before his time, constantly on edge and expecting disaster. It had been a full year since they’d had any intruders: one of whom had been dispersed as easily as fly, and the other who’d proven to be no threat at all and had ended up joining their herd. For him, there was simply nothing to worry about.

Yet, perhaps out of guilt, his gut still tightened when he caught whiff of a strange horse’s scent on the sandy, humid breeze.

Without delay – and deliberately avoiding the gazes of his herd mates – Orhan rose with a slosh and emerged dripping into the sunlight. He crested the nearest, highest dune, whereupon he stood stiff and tall with tail flagged. At first he could see nothing amiss, and the sea of sand that was his home appeared empty in every direction for several long moments. Then, from behind a distant dune appeared a copper silhouette, moving fast. Vesti? was his first thought, and he twisted his head around to glance back at the oasis – but no, the chestnut mare was there. He squinted his eyes at the distant horse shape, but it was too far to discern any detail: too soon to know whether the stranger was male or female, friend or foe. He would investigate now, before either Vesti or El Aran knew anything was amiss (hopefully).

Half-sliding, half-cantering, he descended the dune, throwing sand out before him with every stride, and with that he made his way steadily across the landscape. He did not push himself further than his stamina could handle, but already he could feel the sun burning his back, and his nostrils blew hard with the effort of sucking in such hot, thick air. Yet he never took his dark eyes off the distant figure. As he grew closer, he could see that the stranger had stopped, perhaps because they had caught sight of him or perhaps because they too were having their energy sapped from the heat. When he was close enough to tell that the stranger was female, Orhan slowed to a less threatening trot; when he was close enough to see the slope of her nose, he stopped completely. They were perhaps twenty or thirty strides apart.

That damn slope again. He breathed hard and looked on, watching her carefully as his ears twisted back and forth uncertainly atop his head. A year ago, he would have chased her out without a moment’s hesitation, or at least made it clear that she was not welcome here. Now, he saw only how exhausted she was, and how chasing her away would have meant certain death for her. Even knowing how much his mother mistrusted purebloods – and how much that mistrust had been hammered into him over the course of his young life – he was not certain how he felt about condemning a horse who had done him no wrong (yet) to death. And what’s more, there’s no way she’s any threat to us as is.

He was silent for some time, deliberating on the best course of action. All the while his pale gold sides gleamed with sweat and his tail lashed back and forth anxiously. What would Ana expect of me?

“I mean you no harm,” he called out to the blonde-maned stranger, and took a single step forward. “But this is my desert. What are you doing here?”