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Nekharat stood at the base of the great mountain, her hooves firmly planted in the cool soil below. She stared at the slightly rocky path that twisted up as far as she could see. The summit was quite a distance away, but not insurmountable. Determination lightened the brick in her belly, and with a deep breath and flutter of her limbs she burst into a nimble gallop. With every stride, she wondered who she might find waiting for her at the top.

She knew very little of the mares of this mountain, though it was Amduat that had piqued her interest. The way she came and went so quickly, only lingering long enough to admonish both the buckskin mare who had made an unsuccessful attempt to usher her away and Bahadir, the desert stallion who was clearly at odds with her. Let the girl choose for herself, she had decreed.

The Akhal-Teke mare did choose. She chose none of them.

Nekharat had been a drifter almost the entirety of her short life. Her freedom was all she really had, and she would not let anyone take it away—mare, stallion or otherwise. Herd life was a foreign concept to her, and as much as she enjoyed the soft sands of the Dunes, she could not imagine truly residing there—or anywhere.

Her recent interactions with Shararat and Valens had both proved invigorating in their own ways, and Nekharat thought that perhaps there were more advantages to having allies than flying solo. As long as there was common ground to stand on, she would be proud to stand upon it.

NEKHARAT