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The red-grey stallion mentioned her upbringing and her eyes narrowed once more, unappreciative of his implication that she might have been raised to acknowledge a well-placed nip as a kind of teaching one’s parents might impart upon them. Nekharat snorted—she was not royalty, nor did she have any kind of structure in her youth as the stallion had suggested.
“Do not presume you know anything of my past,” she snapped at him.
In truth, Nekharat’s childhood had been fraught with solitude—her memory of her dam was only of a svelte, black wraith; she was barely a weanling when she left. Instead it was the golden bay Akhal-Teke, Maslakhat, who had watched over her for a mere season or two, before she stole away from him to wander the world as a yearling. In truth, it was a great miracle she had even survived her childhood, and to hear this strange stallion reference it so casually as though she had the benefit of being raised as he presumed she had, offended her.
In fact, there was something of a kinship she felt toward the young Fawn, having been alone at her age herself. She was glad to hear the stallion did not discourage her offer to escort the girl and that he understood she would be a guest—not a permanent resident.
Returning her eyes to Fawn, she smiled at the golden girl’s affirmation of her protection, nodding and then starting to walk alongside her toward the sea as they departed together.
NEKHARAT
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