The buckskin colt upsets a fly, sending it buzzing in Arcana's direction. The tiny, winged pest alights upon her sweat-encrusted shoulder. Her skin shudders, thwarting its attempt to feed there. Her dusty tail swats each hip in turn. This is such a common nuisance in the heat of the desert, that the painted filly doesn't even notice these events. Her tail swings and her skin shudders of their own accord. All she notices now is the setting of the sun. Her mind rests on her adoptive family in the Badlands, and what they might do if they discover her missing.

At the sound of Orhan's voice, Arcana's eyes and ears return their focus to him. He offers little explanation for his trek through the Badlands. Arcana knows there must be more to it, but she doesn't push him to reveal more.

It's almost as if he can read her mind with what he says next. Arcana's delicate nostrils flare. She feels both daring and vulnerable to admit this. "No. He doesn't." As much as she wants to be the bad girl, to be the fun girl, to impress Af and to rebuild her reputation from boring nobody to somebody exciting, Arcana is still Arcana. Her naturally obedient heart is racing in her chest, fearing the consequences of her return. Bayard has been nothing but kind and just, but she doesn't know him well enough to be certain he won't be angry. And she's never seen him angry. She doesn't know if he is capable of violence in fits of rage. They are not close, so there is a good chance he will never notice Arcana's absence, but as the sun sinks lower beyond the horizon, Arcana's fears intensify.

"I really should go home soon. I don't want Bayard to miss me.", she says but she makes no motion to leave. Her dark eyes remain fixed on Orhan's face, made even more handsome by the orange glow of the setting sun.