Still standing out in the rain with his back to the chestnut mare, Orhan did not stir when she asked for clarification; the only movement he gave was a backwards flick of one ear to indicate he had heard her. “Yes,” he said simply, and listened to her elaboration. The fact that Vesti seemed barely able to remember true cold did not surprise him; it only confirmed the story she’d told him about how she had travelled back and forth along Salem for most of her life.
The stallion lapsed into thoughtful silence again, letting his dark, sleepy eyes roam the surface of the rain-tickled oasis. He considered leaving the conversation there – for he had not even talked to his mother about this yet – but something, perhaps the desire to form some kind of bond with Vesti (who was the only non-relative he had for company), compelled him to speak more.
“I saw it for the first time a year ago. It was the first and only time I ever left this island. It was... incredible.”
Suddenly he turned a quarter-circle so that he stood parallel to the oasis and perpendicular to Vesti. Now he looked her in the face with an expression of honest longing. He could remember the shock of it at first – he had never felt so cold and numb in his life – but once his coat had grown in, it had been a constant source of wonder for him. He had felt true joy for the first time since he was a child. “The desert will always be my home, but... I miss the snow sometimes.”
Partly because of the company I shared it with.
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