He regarded her quietly while she introduced herself, or attempted to at least; the guilt that swam within him was filling him head-to-toe, and making it difficult for him to hold eye contact for very long. Her honey gaze seemed to bore into him; he could feel her scanning every inch of him, reading his character and passing judgement. Perhaps it was only his imagination, but as a result, he could feel his mask threatening to slip. His dark eyes flicked to and from her face, sometimes glancing at the sand, sometimes the horizon, or at nothing in particular. He could already hear his mother’s voice, loud in his brain, calling him a traitor and asking why he had brought a monster into their home. For a long few moments he considered not giving his name, thus protecting his identity from the pureblood before him, but then he remembered how she’d said she was “indebted” to him. Truly, a name was nothing, in the grand scheme of things; for all she knew, it was not even his real name. Hell, for all he knew, she had not given him hers either.

“It is nothing.” A pause, then: “I am Orhan. This way.”

With a last cursory glance at A’idah, a morose Orhan turned to lead the way. Under the beating hot sun, he did not dare travel at more than a slow jog, but even at this leisurely speed, the stallion could feel new sweat dampening every last curve and crevice of his body after just a couple minutes. He kept his eyes trained well ahead, never looking at his companion or speaking to her, and his dark legs moved automatically, stepping and sliding easily up and down dunes he’d travelled over a hundred times. The journey was a haze, both literally and metaphorically, for not only did the extreme heat cause mirages to dance on the horizon in every direction, Orhan’s mind too was swimming, so occupied with his thoughts was he.

When at last the dark green smear that was the oasis appeared in the distance, the stallion tensed visibly, lifting his tail and carrying his head almost uncomfortably high. His nostrils blew in and out feverishly, and his eyes were wide and alert, searching for the silhouettes of either of his herdmates, but primarily the dark one of his mother. Thirsty though he was, he did not drink right away when they at last reached the water’s edge; instead, the stallion remained standing guard, nerves twisting his gut and making him feel light-headed. With luck, they would go unnoticed, or if not, El Aran would at least not come close enough to catch the dangerous slope of A’idah’s nose.

Somehow, he did not think they would be so lucky.