"Zaman sana uymazsa sen zamana uy."
There had been no sign of his sister anywhere—not even a whisper of her name—and though he had only managed to search half the islands, he was beginning to lose hope. Even more disheartening was the new tendency he noticed of losing Avangeline for days at a time. Ever since the encounter with Iftikhar, he had felt he let her down. He couldn’t protect her from the indomitable red mare and her ignorance of his culture had caused her injury.
Al-Hattaal sighed heavily, exhausted from overanalyzing the situation. He watched the horizon for movement and spotted a small gathering of horses nearby. Barely paying attention, his gut rumbled, reminding him it had been some time since he’d had anything to eat.
Reaching down, he plucked a few blades of grass from the dirt, unconsciously drifting closer to the group. It felt good to clear his head and focus solely on sustenance for a time—maybe it was just the food, but Al-Hattaal felt immeasurably better.
Flicking his tail, he lifted his dished head and looked toward the path from which he came. Returning to his desert homeland seemed out of the question. And he could not forget that Iftikhar was here as well, and while that did not mean his sister was too, he could at least attempt to seek her out again and see if she would perhaps honor him with her presence. With Avangeline elsewhere, what else could he do?
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