The calmness of his mother’s voice when she replied to his outburst was eerie, and somehow more terrible than any physical blows she could have dealt him. Orhan stood breathing hard and sweating from the heat of his rage, his eyes wild as he took in what El Aran had to say to him.
For a moment, El Aran’s words reached into his heart and twisted it with guilt, and he wondered if he was mistaken. But the feeling was as fleeting as a desert cold spell.
He bared his teeth to unleash another tirade of verbal venom at his mother, but before he could the mare had turned to send a threat in A’idah’s direction, then turned to leave the group altogether. It was done. The buckskin stallion stood frozen like a statue and watched his mother’s retreating form while a sense of dread washed over him. He knew now what he had to do, and it made him feel sick.
Once the black mare was a safe distance away, Orhan shifted until his body was parallel with A’idah’s. His eyes met hers, briefly, and they were red and glistening with unshed tears. When he spoke, his voice was low and rough. “You should go. Hide, swim back to the crossing, I don’t care. Just go. My mother does not make idle threats.”
He hung his head and closed his eyes. “I am so sorry, A’idah. I... you should not have come. Maybe... maybe we can meet again, but first, I...” The words died on his lips. He looked at her, his face as weary as a horse three times his age. “Goodbye.”
Then he turned and trotted in the direction El Aran had disappeared.
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