She settles almost into a trance-like state while he talks, her eyes focusing on nothing in particular and one ear cocked to half-listen for the soft breathing of a sleeping Shael. Her mind paints the images that he speaks of – everything from the dead ground of his birth home to the dark complexion of Namar, though she’s unable to focus on details of the woman’s face, which remains a blank.

Rhaella feels no jealousy thinking of the woman; she does, however, feel an intense sense of empathy. She knows what it’s like to be abandoned by the stallion in your life, all too well, and soon enough she can feel her throat tightening with emotion. It makes her angry that he doesn’t explain why he left Namar, that he hadn’t even stuck around long enough to learn the name of his son… and a little bit disgusted. She’s staring daggers at the ground, avoiding Badr’s gaze as he continues his story, her white lips pressed firmly together and her jaw clenched tight.

I will not criticize him. I will not criticize him. I do not know the full story. I must give him the benefit of the doubt.

Then Badr speaks directly to her, asking her to fulfil her part in the conversation, and finally she looks at him with her wide green eyes. It strikes her then that evening is falling; the sky is becoming a dark bluey-purple and there are the pinpricks of stars far away overhead. Soon enough she will see what the dunes have to offer, as Badr had promised her. Sucking in a breath of air, Rhaella tries to clear her head and plucks at various trains of thought to try and come up with something coherent to tell him.

“I was born on the continent in a land of green hills. Life was easy; our ways were peaceful and spiritual, not like those of the islands. I was very close to my younger brother, Maekar… whom you remind me of, actually. You may recall I mistook you for him when we first met.

“In my homeland, we had a tradition: when an individual comes of age, they embark on their dashbiga, or life-journey. They leave the herd to explore the outside world and find their life’s calling. Some never return, but others do, to live out their days in their homeland and keep the tribe’s traditions. In my case, I ventured here, to the islands, and found my calling much sooner than I thought I would.

“Of all the islands I visited, Tinuvel was the last. I washed up on its shores, half drowned… my life was saved that night by a stallion called Aleksei. He nursed me back to health for some weeks before I departed again to continue upon my way. When I discovered I was pregnant, I returned. That’s when I knew I would never see my family again. I had found my purpose there with him.”

Rhaella pauses to suck in a shaky breath and look off into the twilit distance. It’s still strange speaking of him in the past tense; it doesn’t feel right, somehow. “The child I had died a few days after birth. I was in mourning for a long time until I discovered, yet again, that I was pregnant.” There’s a heavy silence as Rhaella turns her head to gaze at her dozing daughter, the girl still half-in the oasis with her head drooping over her knees. The mare’s voice softens, as if she’s afraid the filly will wake upon hearing her name.

“Shael never met her father. He disappeared one day, never to return. I never knew where he went or what happened to him. I expect I have that in common with your Namar.” She turns to eye Badr meaningfully. “Then I met you.”