Orhan

One day several months ago, Orhan had swallowed his newfound distaste for the sea and had plunged into the salty waves to search for his son. His efforts had been futile, but during his trek he had come across a lone mare, callous and sharp-tongued and with the weight of the world on her shoulders. Their meeting had been but the briefest of uncomfortable encounters, and Orhan had wondered about her a few times in the days following, but much time had passed since then. She had never accepted his invitation to seek refuge in his home, and so he had forgotten about her.

Thus, when a mare's whinny summoned him from afar, the stallion thought at first that it must be someone he already knew: perhaps it was Vesti, or Ava, or A'idah, or Carys, or any number of his friends, lovers, and family who had been lost to the sands of time. His heart sang with the possibility of a reunion as he departed the oasis, his head high and his tail flagged with anticipation. It was a fine day, too: warm but dry, with a blue sky overhead that was a welcome sight after the relentless winter rains of the weeks past; a perfect day to mend broken ties.

Despite the stiffness of an old injury that caused him to move in a slightly stilted manner, the buckskin stallion was otherwise the picture of health as he made his way toward the stranger. With their food and water recently replenished by the rainy season, he had been eating well recently, and kept fit by his energetic daughters. His spirits were high as he neared the mare, though secretly his heart deflated at the realization that she was not one of the individuals he had hoped to see again. His honey-brown eyes roamed her battle-scarred body with interest, but with no inkling of recognition.

"Hello," he finally said, bobbing his head in greeting. "I'm Orhan, and this is the desert. What brings you here?"