The heat was oppressive. It seeped into her bones, into her very being. A layer of sweat coated her body, attracting small grains of sand that made her that much more miserable. Inhalation provided no relief, for the hot air suffocated her and the grit tickled her nasal passages. She tossed her head, willing the sand to leave her alone. It wouldn't. It persisted, clinging to her frame as she stood atop a dune looking out to the sea. For a moment she turned back, taking stock of the desolate landscape. Behind her was a tiny oasis; when she had first arrived, driven across the ocean by Badr, she had assumed it was a mirage. There was a sparse scattering of trees nearby, giving the false impression of shelter. The small pool was the only relief she had yet stumbled upon. Why had Badr chosen this place? She hated him for it. It shouldn't be this hot this time of year.

Thirst overcame her, and as she looked on at the pond, it shimmered and seemed to grow under the afternoon sun. Up from the glistening edge appeared a small figure. Her eyes widened as the image of her child appeared. This time the coloring was different, darker, as it had been at birth, though its form was somehow flawless. The thought didn't register, for she was simply relieved that at last, her little one was whole and coming home to her. It was as if nothing had gone wrong. For that perfect moment, she softened a bit. Then it morphed again, its face becoming twisted, its little legs collapsing. She panicked as it lay motionless and became white once more. Its ghostly form rested for a moment upon the sand before it rose up once more, perfect and pale, and headed in her direction. Fear coursed through her as it stared into her soul, blaming her for its demise.

Though her throat burned with the need for water, she began to back away from the pool. Still the figure advanced with steady strides. The edges did not waver as they had just minutes before - or had it been hours? Regardless of how long had passed, the time had come for her to flee. She pivoted on a hind foot and bolted, struggling through the loose sand at her hooves. Running into the wind stung her eyes, bringing tears, but she pressed on. Her thick mane clung to her sweaty neck, exacerbating her already high body temperature. Still she galloped, her legs tiring quickly and ever straining against the soft surface. She tried to escape from the foal as she had not been able to escape from Badr.

Eventually she was forced to slow, her sides heaving with the effort she had spent. Her knees shook, so she let them buckle. Glancing warily about her from her vulnerable position upon the sand, she realized she had not a clue where she was. She heard nothing but the sound of her own respirations. Her eyelids began to droop. The burning at the back of her throat was worse. Her eyes were nearly shut now. The last thing she saw before slipping into unconsciousness was the pale figure of the child, having followed her the whole way after all. The heat did funny things to Laurel.

And she hated Badr for bringing her here.