It was a good thing Orhan was not privy to the stranger’s thoughts, for had he been, his anger might have tripled and caused him to lash out and potentially start a fight he did not have enough experience to finish. Had the two met on another occasion – one which would have prompted the stranger to speak his thoughts to a calmer, more collected Orhan – Orhan would have wondered why the other stallion was allowed to make assumptions about his character within seconds of meeting him while simultaneously denouncing Orhan’s assumption that he was a potential threat. He might also have explained to this stallion that, not only was he generally suspicious of everyone not part of his herd, male or no, his assumption was a conditioned one based on years of experience – years of seeing other stallions waltzing in to claim his family’s home as though they were entitled to it simply by having a pair of testicles – and that, if he could not make an assumption based on so many reaffirming experiences, what was the point of ever assuming anything at all?

Alas, the stranger did not voice his judgement, and so Orhan would not resort to hooves and teeth (yet).

Instead, Orhan was poised with a question he could not in any way have anticipated. Lifting his chin an inch to look the taller stallion more clearly in the eye, he frowned but said nothing. When the stranger continued – going so far as to call the desert ‘lovely’ – the corner of Orhan’s lip twitched with suspicion. He had lived in the desert more or less his entire life; he knew how to make use of its resources and avoid its dangers. But he – and he was certain El Aran would agree with him – would never call the desert ‘lovely’. It was a hard and brutal place, unsuited not just to most horses, but to most living things. Underestimating its brutality could rob you of your life. It must have been sarcasm,, he thought, but the longer he eyed the stallion’s long and lean and shiny body, the more he wondered if he was not being sarcastic at all.

Orhan blew heavily out of his nostrils and shifted his weight in the sand, but remained no less tense. Despite this stranger’s pretty words, he would not let his guard down.

“There are no other stallions here,” he replied bluntly, and lashed his tail for emphasis. His remaining patience sat heavy, like a knot in his chest, and he could feel it unraveling. Adrenaline sang in his veins, and his limbs itched to satisfy their snake-killing urge. “You should leave the way you came.”