Orhan

As soon as the first words out of the fleabitten mare's mouth were not "of course my name is Nasmat", Orhan's ears switched off. After that, she may as well have been speaking gibberish to him, for he heard none of it. Instead, he stared with a cold emptiness into her face. He observed the hard lines of anger around her eyes and saw her take a step closer to him, as though to prove her earnestness. But her passion did not stir him. Whatever thin veil of trust that had been holding them together until now was gone, blown away like a feather in the breeze. Even if this whole thing was a misunderstanding and she was innocent of murder, in his eyes she was not completely acquitted of all charges. There was too much about her that did not sit right with him.

Before Nasmat had finished speaking, Orhan's bloodshot eyes wandered. He stood in place for what felt like an eternity, ears twisted back against his poll, and tried in vain to make sense of the situation. Though he avoided the sight of his mother's body in the sand, her presence was like a hot brand in his peripheral vision, distracting and preventing him from thinking clearly.

He tucked his chin to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, prompting a fresh deluge of tears to spill from their corners. "Get out. All of you," he murmured, without looking at any of the horses around him. "I don't care where you go, just leave. Get out of my home."

He needed to grieve. Only after he had come to terms with what had happened would he be able to form his own conclusions about the truth.