Somewhere within him, he’d hoped that seeing her son stand up to her – which he’d never done before – would confuse El Aran long enough to give him time to reason with her, if only briefly. To his disappointment, her reaction was only defensive, and for a moment he was worried that she would attack him. Him, of all horses.
This would be even more difficult than he thought.
After a moment, the black mare seemed to come to her senses and straightened her posture. Orhan hesitated, then did the same, though his ears remained tilted backwards against the frosted mess of his mane and his face remained taut and lined with displeasure, aging him beyond his years. Finally she spoke, inviting – or rather commanding – him to do the same. His expression faltered, and one ear flicked foward. He opened his mouth, then closed it.
It suddenly occurred to him he had no idea what to say to her. The gulf of ignorance between them was so large it would have taken them a full day to discuss all that needed to be discussed. So go with the most pressing issue, he reminded himself, which immediately drew his eye to the horse on the ground. To his relief, the stranger seemed unharmed, if a little haggard and obviously terrified. Yet, his eyes... Bullying a blind horse? Oh, Ana.
Orhan frowned, and his gaze shot back to his mother just in time to catch her lifting one hind hoof threateningly toward the horse on the ground. “Ana!” he berated, and cracked his tail with irritation, but before he could continue, he saw his mother’s attention had been drawn elsewhere.
A’idah had arrived.
At the very least, she had the sense to put herself behind him. He spared her only a brief glance as his belly flip-flopped and his ears caught the sound of El Aran uttering a prayer to her goddess. He tensed and turned his full attention back to his mother, expecting her to do something rash. He could see disbelief in her dark face – and fear – as she looked A’idah up and down. For a moment, he felt sorry for her.
Only for a moment.
He had never heard El Aran speak the word he heard next, but its meaning was clear enough. Fire burning in his belly, he lifted both forehooves off the ground and stomped them into the wet sand. “Yeter!” he spat as he resumed his former aggressive stance.
To his surprise, it was the stranger who reacted first. The blind horse stood, sand clinging to his wet, dark body, and shouted at them. Orhan was taken aback – not just because he had not expected such an outburst from the stranger, but because he did not understand what he had to be ashamed of. El Aran was the one at fault here; Orhan was the one standing up for him.
He stared into the blind stallion’s milky eyes, listening with rapt attention to his rant. When the topic of his mother came up, Orhan’s lip curled. Had his Ana really said such a thing to a helpless, blind horse?
He took a deep breath to try and calm himself before speaking. Though he addressed the stranger, his eyes were locked on his mother. “I must apologize for her actions. That is precisely what I meant to talk to her about.” Before either of them could interject, Orhan took a step sideways and gestured with his head to the mare he shielded.
“Ana, this is A’idah. She will not hurt you.” He spoke slowly, as if he were speaking to a child. “You will not hurt her, or this stranger. I forbid it. Anlıyor musun? May we all talk like adults?”
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