Merhaba.
His ears pricked attentively as the language his mother had passed down to him spilled from the stranger’s lips. As his eyes roamed her features, he noted the fine lines and suggestions of Arabian and Akhal-Teke blood in her, yet like himself there was the hardiness of mixed heritage in her too. For all intents and purposes, they had much in common appearance-wise, if he did not count the touch of white on the mare’s forehead or her darker markings. And there was, of course, the fact that she was female and heavily pregnant.
“Orhan,” he replied politely with a bob of his head. “You speak the desert tongue. Tanıştığımıza memnun oldum.” Orhan himself could only string a few sentences together nowadays – he was not so fluent in it now that he did not have his mother to practice with – but it was still refreshing to hear it spoken. His sad eyes were a little less sad as he regarded her from across the water.
“What brings you to my desert, Nesrin?” Unconsciously, his gaze drifted briefly to her swollen belly. How had she managed the swim from the crossing in such a state? Or was she one of Gabbar’s mares? If so, Gabbar is as lenient as A’idah said he was.
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